How to Catch a Wicked Viscount

by Amy Rose Bennett

  “What are you doing here?” In his confusion, his tone was harsher than he meant it to be. Why aren’t you with Claremont . . . ?

  Her gaze was steady as she drew a deep breath. “I need to speak with you, Nate. To tell you something . . . Lord Claremont has indeed asked me to marry him. However, I have yet to give him a definite answer. But since his departure, I’ve decided I’m going to say no.”

  She is going to say no? Nate’s heart leapt and despaired at the same time. He did indeed want Sophie to be happy, to have whatever her heart desired.

  As long as it wasn’t him.

  But he couldn’t say any of that. Instead he said the most obvious thing that sprang to mind. “Sophie, you shouldn’t be here. If you are discovered . . . You need to be more careful about your reputation.”

  Her heated, adoring gaze raked over him, taking in his half-naked state. Lust speared though him and he swallowed, his throat tight with longing. He should really throw on a shirt. A banyan. Tell her again to leave his bedroom. But he didn’t.

  Sophie’s eyes met his again and she shrugged. “At this point, I really don’t care. In most of society’s eyes, I’m regarded as fast anyway. And what I’ve come here to say must be said.”

  She crossed the room and to Nate’s astonishment, she took the glass of brandy from his hand and took a large sip; it was as though she was fortifying herself for what she was going to say next. “The reason I’m going to say no to Lord Claremont,” she said in a low voice, “is my heart isn’t free. It belongs to you, Nathaniel Hastings. You, and only you.” She raised her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “I love you. I’ve tried not to. But I do. And that’s never going to change.”

  Oh no. No, no, no. He had known this to be true, for weeks now, but hearing it from Sophie’s sweet lips, seeing the determined light in her eyes, was another thing entirely. Because he couldn’t say it back. Nate rubbed his fingers through his hair. “Sophie . . . I . . .”

  Her mouth curved into a sad smile. “It’s all right, Nate. You don’t have to say anything. I know you cannot,” she said softly. “I don’t expect anything from you. Nothing at all. But I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel anything for you.” She discarded his brandy and placed her hand against his naked chest. Her cool fingers flexed against the rigid plane of muscle, yet somehow her touch burned. Seared straight through him to his wildly thudding heart. Branding him in some elemental way.

  “I know you want me, even though you do not love me,” she murmured. “So I wondered if I might be so bold as to ask you for one last kiss before I go.”

  Nate frowned. His thoughts were addled. His brain was not working. “Go?”

  “Yes. After I send word to Lord Claremont, I’m going to return home to Nettlefield Grange. Tomorrow, if your father can spare a carriage. Or I shall take a mail coach. Lord Claremont’s courtship has certainly been public knowledge, and there’s sure to be talk about the fact that I’ve turned him down. My London Season will be well and truly over.”

  Sophie is going to leave . . . Nate’s heart stopped as though he’d just been kicked before it lurched into an unsteady gallop again. It was inevitable, of course. He’d anticipated it as soon as he realized Claremont would propose. But fool that he was, he hadn’t expected her departure to be so soon. Tomorrow . . .

  Sophie’s hand slid to his bare shoulder. Did she know her touch was the most exquisite of tortures? And how much danger she was in? Hot lust pounded through his veins once more, loosening the tight reins on his control.

  Perhaps she did know all of these things but didn’t care. Her blue eyes were dark with desire as she murmured, “So I ask you for this one last favor, Nate. One last kiss that I shall keep as a cherished memory, close to my foolish heart.”

  Nate closed his eyes for a brief moment. This was madness. He sucked in an unsteady breath and forced himself to say, “We shouldn’t.”

  “Probably not.” Her fingers traced over his jaw. His lips. “But let’s do it anyway. Kiss me goodbye, Nate. I’ll never ask you for anything else ever again.”

  God help him, he couldn’t resist the naked need in her gaze. The beckoning fire of her touch. They pulled at him like the moon pulled at the tide. A better man would turn her away.

  But today, right here, right now, he wasn’t that man.

  “Sophie,” he whispered, touching her delicate cheek, and before he could draw another breath, she pressed her mouth to his and kissed him.

  Fire roaring through him, Nate caught her slender, pliant body against his and kissed her back with unrestrained abandon. Angling her head with his hands, he plundered her mouth with lips and tongue. Devoured her. She tasted so damn good. Like the sweetest honey or the most sublime wine.

  How could he possibly give her up? His body craved her like an addict craved opium, and it seemed no one else would do. Since he’d first tasted her, he hadn’t bedded a single woman. Hadn’t desired another woman.

  All rational thought splintered when Sophie slid her hand between their bodies and cupped his straining member through his buckskin breeches. He groaned and rocked his hips into her. Backed her up against the wall beside the window and palmed her small breast. She filled his hand and he squeezed gently, relishing the moan that spilled from her lips into his mouth, the press of her impudent nipple into his palm.

  Panting, she dragged her mouth from his, but he was a man possessed, and he needed the taste of her more than he needed air. And any part of her was fair game. He grazed his mouth along her jaw and ravished her neck as she continued to stroke him. If she kept this up, he was sure to come in his breeches.

  This was more than a single kiss, but for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  “Nate,” she breathed as he pushed her gown aside and lavished her shoulder with desperate kisses. “Touch me. Love me.”

  Nate growled and tugged down her bodice and underclothes. The sound of fabric tearing rent the air, but he didn’t care. He bent his head and sucked her rosy puckered nipple into his mouth. Tugged on it gently with his teeth, then soothed the sting with his tongue.

  Sophie fumbled with the buttons at the fall front of his breeches, then slipped her hand inside. Her fingers curled around his shaft, and when her thumb swiped through the seed leaking from him, he sucked in a breath.

  “We need to stop,” he groaned, burying his face in her neck. “I don’t want to ruin you, Sophie.” Deflowering her was not something he could live with.

  She tugged at his hair until he looked up and met her passion-glazed eyes. All the while her wicked fingers worked him, sliding up and down, up and down. Squeezing. Pumping. Driving him insane. “You know as well as I that we can both seek satisfaction in other ways. Like we did before. But if you want me to stop . . .” Her fingers stilled, and Nate thought he might die.

  “No. I don’t want you to stop. Here . . .” He led her to his bed and lay down on the claret red counterpane, his weight on his elbows. His throbbing cock jutted straight up, demanding attention. “Climb on top of me, Sophie. Slide your quim back and forth along my length. Ride me.”

  Had he shocked her with his wicked invitation? For one long moment Sophie stared at his manhood, her teeth pressing into her swollen lower lip. Then she hoisted up her snow white muslin skirts and straddled his hips. He felt her soft curls brush his shaft, and then, when she lowered herself, he was enveloped by hot, wet heat.

  Fuck. He closed his eyes and hissed at the sheer, overwhelming pleasure of feeling her slick furrow against his naked flesh.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered. “Am I hurting you?”

  Nate attempted a smile even though he thought he might explode at any moment. “No. Not at all. It’s just that you feel so god damn wonderful, Sophie.”

  She nodded and leaned forward, bracing herself on her arms before sliding herself along his throbbing length. Her naked b
reast bobbed like a cherry-tipped blancmange, and Nate swallowed as moisture flooded his mouth. “That’s it, keep going, sweetheart.”

  At his words of encouragement, Sophie smiled and set up a slow, measured pace, undulating back and forth, gliding over him, torturing him yet pleasuring him at the same time. When she leaned down and kissed his chest, her tongue flickering against one of his nipples, he bucked and grasped her hips. More than anything he wanted to bury himself inside her, balls deep, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t betray her in that way.

  “Go faster, sweetheart. Grind yourself against me if you want to. I won’t break.”

  She rocked faster, pressed harder, and his orgasm began to build. Sophie panted and circled her hips, and Nate couldn’t resist the urge to help push her over the edge into pleasure too. He slipped a hand beneath her skirts and pressed his thumb against her core, circling and rubbing the dew-slick flesh, increasing the friction.

  “Oh . . . oh my . . . oh . . .” Sophie’s thighs squeezed his hips, and then her whole body spasmed. Throwing her head back, she let out a ragged cry before collapsing forward.

  Nate hugged her against him, and as he buried his face in her deliciously fragrant neck, he rolled his hips, grinding himself against the fresh flood of moisture bathing his rigid length. The hot wet friction was enough to send him plunging headlong into bliss as well.

  “Sophie,” he groaned. His balls tightened and his seed fountained from his cock in hot spurts, coating his belly and Sophie’s mound and slender thighs.

  For long minutes they lay that way, Sophie lashed against him, both of them catching their breath. How odd that he suddenly didn’t want to let her go.

  But he must.

  He slid his hands to her slender waist, and as Sophie pushed herself up, she smiled softly. “Thank you, Nate,” she murmured. She dropped a swift kiss on his lips, then slid from the bed.

  Nate’s gut twisted with guilt as he sat up and clumsily refastened his breeches. He wanted to say something but what? Stay? Don’t go?

  But that would imply he wanted Sophie to stay forever. And they both knew that such an eventuality would only end in disaster. She wanted a happily ever after with a husband who loved her. And he was only bound to disappoint her.

  Turning away from him, Sophie adjusted her clothing in silence.

  “Sophie . . .”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “You don’t need to say anything, Nate. You gave me what I wanted and I’m grateful.”

  Grateful. Nate frowned and scrubbed his hand down his face before he got to his feet. For some reason it bothered him that Sophie should feel this way. As though he’d just thrown her the scraps from his table, nothing more. He wanted more from her than gratitude. He wanted . . . The truth was, he didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

  As he approached her, she turned around. “I expect I’ll leave early in the morning, so I may not see you for some time . . .” She trailed off and bit her lip. “And who knows, perhaps when I do see you again, my heart will be healed.”

  Nate itched to touch Sophie’s face, to cradle her cheek, but he didn’t. His fingers curled into a fist instead. “I expressed the sentiment earlier today, but I will say it again because it’s true. I wish you nothing but happiness, Sophie.”

  She nodded, and even though her blue eyes were bright with tears, she smiled. “I believe you. Goodbye, Nate.”

  It wasn’t until the door shut that Nate realized he had tears in his eyes too.

  * * *

  * * *

  May 14, 1818

  “Oh, Sophie. I will miss you so.” Charlie hugged her so tight, Sophie thought she might never let her go. “You must promise to write. And often.”

  “I will.” Tears misted Sophie’s vision as her friend released her. Through the open front door, she could see a mizzling rain was falling on the square and on Lord Westhampton’s carriage. He’d been quite happy to lend it to her, even at such short notice. It would be a far more comfortable journey compared to the one she would have if she took a public coach.

  “I’ve said it already, but you do not have to leave on my account, my dear friend. We’ve already endured half a Season of stares and whispers, and I am happy to continue to do so.”

  Sophie shook her head. “You are too generous and kindhearted for your own good, Charlie. You will fare much better in the husband hunting stakes without me. I’m expecting some good news from you by the end of the Season.”

  Charlie snorted. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

  “And please do say farewell to your aunt and Olivia for me if you see her.”

  “I will.”

  Sophie didn’t ask her to say the same to Nate. She’d already said her heartfelt goodbye yesterday when she’d visited his room. She hadn’t seen him since, and she expected it would be a long time before she ever did again. Which was all for the best, she decided.

  She hugged Charlie again to hide the fact that her eyes were brimming once more. Then she hurried down the stairs and into the waiting carriage.

  As the carriage pulled away, she settled back against the squabs and closed her eyes. Her throat ached as she tried to crush back a fresh wave of burning tears. She didn’t want to look back at Hastings House. She only wanted to look toward the future. One in which she was whole and happy and not pining after a wicked viscount with rich brown eyes and a heart-melting smile.

  She’d taken a chance and had declared her feelings, but still Nate had remained silent . . . even though she was certain she’d seen deeper emotions like tenderness and yearning in his eyes as they’d shared their bodies so intimately. And then a flicker of regret when she’d said goodbye. But perhaps she’d only imagined all of it because she wanted him to reciprocate her love so badly.

  Well, she wouldn’t beg. And if Nathaniel Hastings had a change of heart, he knew where to find her.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Disgraced Debutante, Miss S. B. of M. G., returns home amid a cloud of rumors about her time in the capital . . .

  Perhaps one purportedly smitten viscount came to his senses?

  The Suffolk County Chronicle: Vignettes of Village Life

  Nettlefield Grange, Monkton Green, Suffolk

  May 15, 1818

  Sophie, I cannot believe you turned down Lord Claremont. A viscount! What on earth were you thinking?”

  Sophie sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, praying for patience. She had expected her mother to be upset and angry. But facing it was another thing entirely. Especially when this was the third time she’d heard the same argument—and she’d only arrived home yesterday. “As I explained before, Mama, I esteem Lord Claremont greatly, but I’m afraid I do not care for him.”

  Her mother fixed her with an exasperated look. Her face, pinched with strain, was almost as pale as the lace cap she wore. “I truly wonder what is wrong with you sometimes. Why wouldn’t you care for him? I met the man when he came to speak with Mr. Debenham. Lord Claremont is handsome, and charming, and rich . . . and he’s a viscount, for goodness’ sake!”

  “I agree he is all those things, Mama. But I will not marry unless it’s for love.”

  Her mother shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. “Sophie Elizabeth Brightwell. Where did I go wrong? I had such high hopes for you when Lord Westhampton wrote, inviting you to stay. But now you’ve gone and ruined everything again.”

  Sophie’s heart twisted with guilt but she said nothing, because what else could she say? She couldn’t admit that she’d fallen in love with her best friend’s brother, a wicked rake whom she loved to distraction. A man who was averse to both marriage and love.

  Instead, she looked out of the drawing room window to the garden where their geese pecked for grubs in the grass. Alice’s cat sat on the stone wall, watching them, her tail twitching. It was such a shame that she hadn’t heard anything from the pub
lisher about her children’s novel yet. She fervently prayed that at least one of her dreams would come true. If only there was some way for her to earn at least a little money to help out her family . . .

  Her mother’s exaggerated sigh pulled her from her maudlin musings. “I expect Mr. Debenham will be able to talk some sense into you when he returns from his call with Lord Buxton. Everyone in the village believes you are to become a viscountess. Oh, the shame if you don’t, Sophie. The shame.” Her mother subsided onto the chintz-covered settee and pressed a crumpled linen handkerchief to her eyes. “Poor Alice and Jane will be heartbroken too. Crushed. They were so excited when they found out their sister was going to become Lady Claremont.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama. I truly am. But I cannot help the way I feel.”

  “And then of course there is this awful matter with Lord Buxton.” Her mother dabbed at her tears. “Mr. Debenham was so relieved when Lord Claremont asked for your hand. He was sure the viscount would clear the debt.”

  Sophie frowned. “I don’t understand why Father cannot work out some sort of arrangement with Lord Buxton. They are friends, after all.”

  “I do not know either. And I worry . . .” Her mother trailed off and bit her quivering lower lip.

  “You worry about what, Mama?”

  “You probably think I haven’t noticed, but I’ve seen the way Lord Buxton looks at you, Sophie. He fancies himself in love with you, even though he’s old enough to be your father. I know he followed you to London. At any rate, because you are not promised to Lord Claremont, I wonder if he will now try to pressure Mr. Debenham into making another sort of arrangement to settle the debt.”

  Sophie’s mouth grew drier than the Sahara. “What do you mean?”

  A shadow of apprehension flickered across her mother’s face. “I fear Lord Buxton will promise to clear the debt in exchange for your hand in marriage.”

  Oh no. Sophie shook her head. She could never marry Lord Buxton. “I won’t do it. I simply cannot.”