Page 40 of Lady Sophia's Lover
His fingers slid tenderly into the cleft between her thighs, the pad of his thumb drawing upward to circle the hood of her sex. She groaned and trembled while his fingers entered her with gentle skill, and his mouth consumed hers with desperate fervor.
“We can’t,” Sophia moaned. “Not here—”
He hushed her with his mouth and caught her head in the crook of his arm. His fingers withdrew, and she felt him opening the front of his trousers. He mounted her, using his thighs to widen the angle between her legs. Turning her face against the bulging muscle of his upper arm, Sophia breathed in shallow pants, her body rigid with anticipation.
His large hand slipped beneath her bottom. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’ll be gentle. Just open to me. That’s it…yes…” And he began to enter her with exquisite care, stretching her, filling her with silk and heat and impossible sensation.
Footsteps hastened past the door…the sounds of gleeful laughter…guests searching for new places to hide.
They were going to be caught. Sophia reared upward in panic, fighting wildly in a sudden effort to free herself. Ross withdrew from her, the weight of his erection sliding wetly from her body. Panting hard, he pinned her wrists to the carpet. “Hush,” he breathed in her ear.
“…shall we try in here?” a female asked as she paused just outside the door.
“No,” came an answering male voice. “Too obvious. Let’s go down the hall…”
Their footsteps retreated from the threshold, and Sophia rolled away from Ross the moment he released her wrists. She staggered to her feet and jerked at her clothes to rearrange them. Her face burned as she bent to tug her drawers upward and tie the dangling tapes at her waist. Her limbs were shaking from nerves and fear. Her body ached with unspent passion. She had never known such need, an unquenchable fire that burned with maddening ferocity.
Ross fastened his trousers and approached her from behind. The gentle clasp of his fingers on her shoulders made her flinch. She wanted to seize his hands and pull them to her breasts and beg him to give her the relief she craved. Instead she stood as stiffly as a statue while he nuzzled into her disheveled hair.
“Obviously I haven’t done this for a while.” Irony washed through his voice. “My sense of timing used to be much better.”
“We shouldn’t have gone so far,” she said through lips that felt swollen. “It was f-fortunate that we were not able to finish.”
His hands tightened on her shoulders. “I’m going to finish it soon, by God. I’ll come to your room later.”
“No,” she said instantly. “My door will be locked. I-I don’t want to discuss this, ever. As far as I’m concerned, it never happened.”
“Sophia,” he murmured, “there is only one thing you can do to keep me from your bed—and that is to tell me that you don’t want me.”
Ross waited with calculated patience while Sophia struggled until her chest felt as if it would burst. Every time she tried to speak, her throat closed, and her shoulders quivered within the supportive frame of his hands. “Please,” she finally whispered, although she had no idea what she was asking him for.
His palm slid across her collarbone and pressed to the center of her chest, where her heartbeat could be felt through the thick fabric of her gown. “We’ll have our reckoning soon,” he said gently. “There is nothing to be afraid of, Sophia.”
She pulled away from him with a sharp jerk. “There is,” she said hoarsely, striding away from him. “You just don’t know it yet.”
Chapter 10
Sophia fled to her room and tried to restore herself. She washed with cold water, scrubbing her face until it was pink. After brushing her hair and pinning it in an excruciatingly tight coil, she returned to her duties, feeling dazed and frantic.
The murder game was soon declared over, and the guests proceeded to entertain themselves with a guessing game in which they gave imitations of classical statuary. Howls of laughter greeted each effort. Having received no education in art history, Sophia could not understand why the company seemed to find the game so uproarious. Absently she bade the footmen to clear away the tea dishes and port glasses. The kitchen scullery was crowded with maids washing flatware, crystal, and hundreds of plates. Thankfully, the other servants seemed too busy to notice Sophia’s distracted manner.
As the hour of two o’clock approached, most of the guests retired for the evening, heading to their rooms where valets and ladies’ maids waited to assist them. Exhausted, Sophia supervised the cleanup of the common rooms, and praised the servants for a job well done. She finally went to her room, carrying a tinplate lantern fashioned in the shape of a cup with a pattern of punched holes. Although she was outwardly calm, her hand shook until the lantern caused brilliant dots to flutter across the wall like a cloud of fireflies.
When she reached her room, she closed the door and carefully set the lantern on the small rustic table in the corner. Only now, in the privacy of the bedroom, could she allow her tightly suppressed emotions to escape. Clutching the edge of the table for support, she bowed her head and sighed shakily. She stared at the tear-blurred light before her, reliving the moments of rapturous intimacy in Ross’s arms.
“Ross,” she whispered, “how can I leave you?”
A voice came from the shadows. “I will never let you leave me.”
She whirled around, a cry caught in her throat. The uncertain light from the tinplate lantern played over the hard contours of Ross’s face. He lounged on the small bed, so still and quiet that she had not seen him when she entered the room.
“You frightened the wits out of me!” she exclaimed.
He smiled slightly, unfolding his long frame from the bed. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, coming to her. His fingertips drew through the wet trails on her cheeks. “Why the talk of leaving? I didn’t mean to upset you earlier. It was too soon—I shouldn’t have approached you that way.”
That comment brought a fresh, stinging surge of salt water to her eyes. “It’s not that.”
He reached around to the back of her head and unfastened her hair, dropping the pins to the floor. “Then what is it? You can tell me anything.” His fingers stroked her scalp and spread her hair over her shoulders in a rippling stream. “You must realize that by now. Tell me, and I’ll make it all better.”
