When You Wish Upon a Rogue

by Bennett, Anna

  “Come back to bed,” she whispered in his ear.

  He reached up and cradled her head in his palm. “The morning’s almost over, and I was going to bring you breakfast.”

  “I don’t want to eat,” she said, running a hand over the smooth planes of his chest. “I want to make love with you.”

  He hauled her onto his lap and searched her face, his eyes dark with desire and regret. “How can we, when we’re about to say goodbye?”

  “I can think of no better way to spend the minutes we have left,” she said.

  For several seconds he sat there frozen, his expression unreadable. Then he stood, hoisting her in her arms, and strode toward the bed. As he laid her on the mattress, his arm muscles flexed, and his hair hung low over his brow. He looked gorgeous and dangerous, like an angel of darkness.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

  She tugged at the sheet, slowly unwrapping herself. “I’ve never been surer.”

  * * *

  Reese ignored the warning signals in his head—the ones that said he should safeguard Sophie’s heart, and his.

  He pulled her close and ran his hands over her body, savoring every sweet indentation and curve. When she threaded her fingers through his hair, he ground his hips against hers. She wrapped her legs around his and slid against his cock, driving him wild. Everything about her was perfect, from the satisfied sounds in her throat to the intoxicating taste of her skin to the unchecked passion in her eyes.

  She caressed his neck and opened her mouth to him, tangling her tongue with his in a kiss that was demanding, reckless, and exactly what he needed.

  Their bodies collided with a hungry, frenzied fervor, and he knew he’d die if he didn’t have her. She pulled at the waistband of his trousers, and he slid them off in record time. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, licking and sucking while he caressed every inch of her body—the ripe mounds of her breasts, the soft indent of her waist, and the lush curve of her bottom. When he brought his palm up her thigh and felt the slick heat between her legs, she writhed beneath him.

  “I want you, Reese,” she said, her beautiful blue eyes imploring.

  He positioned himself at her entrance and held her face in his hands. “Tell me if you’re hurting,” he said. “Even a little.”

  When she nodded and smiled, he eased himself inside her, an inch at a time. She felt impossibly tight and hot and perfect. When she began to move beneath him, he groaned. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Soph. Everything.”

  She looked up at him with such affection and trust that he thought his chest might explode. “I like this. You inside me, on top of me, around me. No matter how much I have of you, I always want more.” As if to prove her point, she clenched her inner muscles around him, and he nearly lost control.

  “Hold on,” he said, thrusting harder. “But don’t hold back.”

  She clung to his shoulders as he found a rhythm and angle she liked. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head fell back, and her lips parted, as they crashed into each other, perfectly, fiercely attuned.

  Heat and pleasure shimmered through his veins like a drug, and his body begged for release—but he needed her to come first. So he moved a little faster, thrust a little harder, and reached between them to touch her. With a few strokes, she was whimpering, right on the edge.

  “Yes, Sophie,” he said raggedly. “Come for me.”

  She locked her gaze with his and cried out, her body pulsing all around him with wet heat. Somehow, he managed to wait out her climax, but sweat beaded on his forehead, and his muscles ached from the effort.

  When she reached up and kissed him with utter abandon, he let himself spiral higher and higher. Everything inside him wanted Sophie—her essence, her goodness, her soul—and for that one moment, she was his.

  Just as release barreled toward him, he pulled out, moaning and spending himself on the sheets.

  For a full minute, they lay there, catching their breath and staring at each other with wonder.

  And for the life of him, Reese couldn’t say whether they’d just made the best decision of their lives—or the worst.

  Chapter 23

  A few hours later, Reese sat at the desk in his bedchamber. Alone.

  He’d promised Sophie that he’d read the letters from Conroy’s wife, and he intended to.

  In an odd way, the task seemed less daunting now. Loving Sophie and letting her go had been the hardest thing he’d ever done or would do. If he’d survived that trial, he could survive anything.

  He’d wanted to scream as she walked to the hackney cab. He’d wanted to drop to his knees and beg her not to go. The thought of her marrying someone else made him physically ill—as though his whole body rejected the knowledge that he wouldn’t be the one who woke up next to her and who gave her flowers. The one who made her smile.

  But he couldn’t ask her not to marry Singleton. Her family meant everything to her, and he admired her for wanting to help them. The truth was that he couldn’t offer her a better future than Singleton.

  Marriage to the marquess would give her status, security, and stability. She’d have someone to escort her to balls and the theater and the opera. She’d be embraced by the highest echelons of society and move in the finest circles. She’d never have to worry about her family’s finances.

  Most importantly, she’d never wake in the middle of the night to find the man beside her thrashing in sweat-soaked sheets and crying out like a madman.

  Swallowing the bitterness in his throat, Reese broke the seal on the letter he held and unfolded it. His hand shook as he began to read.

  Dear Lord Warshire,

  I write to you with a heart that is surely broken beyond repair. William was the center of the world for me and for our two young daughters. Even when he was away, he made sure we wanted for nothing. In his frequent letters he never failed to tell us how deeply we were loved.

  In those letters he also told me a little of his daily life and often mentioned you. It’s clear he held you in the highest regard, and I felt compelled to tell you how much William respected and admired you.

  I understand you recently lost your own brother and offer my deepest condolences. If your grief is anything like my own, it feels like huge waves are crashing over you, threatening to drag you under. But I take some solace in knowing William was doing what he loved, for the people he loved, alongside men he loved like brothers.

  If you are ever in London and have an hour or two to spare, I would greatly appreciate the chance to meet you in person and hear your memories of my dear William. Please call on us at any time.

  Sincerely,

  Mrs. Sarah Conroy

  Reese set down the letter, dropped his head in his hands, and—for the first time in his adult life—sobbed.

  * * *

  All week long, Sophie felt like she’d been wandering through a fog, numb and sad. But now that Friday had arrived, she missed Reese more than ever.

  As she slipped through the door of the tailor’s shop to prepare for that night’s meeting of the Debutante Underground, she saw memories of Reese everywhere. The buttons they’d wagered in their game of vingt-et-un. The pillows they’d laid their heads on as they slept on the floor. Even the ivy plant she’d begun nurturing back to life on the night she’d met Reese made her miss him. Perched on the counter where she’d left it to ensure it received some afternoon sun, its heart-shaped leaves drooped a bit—as if it shared in her sorrow.

  Sophie gave the potted plant a little attention, then began heating water for tea and setting out little plates for scones and cakes. The Friday night meetings of the Debutante Underground had become such an integral part of her life, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to bring herself to tell the members—much less Fiona and Lily—that her time chairing the meetings was quickly coming to an end.

  But once she and Lord Singleton were married, she wouldn’t be able to sneak out of the house and disappear for hours on en
d. She couldn’t lie or keep secrets from him, and she certainly couldn’t tell him the truth—for their relationship was nothing like Fiona and Gray’s or Lily and Nash’s, which were based on mutual respect and love. But her friends’ marriages were the exception.

  Like most gentlemen, Lord Singleton would expect his wife to be unfailingly proper and obedient. And Sophie supposed she owed him that much.

  Reese wouldn’t be waiting for her after tonight’s meeting. Instead of going to Warshire Manor, she’d be spending the evening at Fiona and Gray’s house. During her visit, Sophie planned to tell her friends everything she’d been keeping bottled up—and perhaps have herself a good, hard cry. But first, she had to muddle through tonight’s meeting.

  By the time members eagerly began filing into the shop, a dozen candles lent the room a cheery glow, the aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the air, and plump silk cushions brightened the shabby furniture. Sophie pasted on a smile as she greeted everyone, and at eight o’clock she took her place at the podium. After giving her official welcome and usual review of the rules, she invited Violet to read this week’s edition of The Debutante’s Revenge.

  The young woman wore a long shawl that concealed her expanding belly. Her face was still a bit thin, but her cheeks had a healthy pink glow. She accepted the copy of the London Hearsay that Sophie offered with a shy smile, cleared her throat, and began reading.

  Dear Debutantes,

  Do not despair if circumstances require you to be apart from a gentleman you admire. Prolonged separations can be difficult but are not a death knell for a relationship—unless you allow it to be so.

  Use the time away from your partner to ascertain your true feelings. Write him letters if you wish, but do not spend your days pining for him. If the connection you have with your beau is genuine, nothing will sever it. Neither time nor distance will keep you apart—and your hearts will find a way to be together.

  As the women immediately launched into a lively discussion about the column, Sophie retreated to a corner where she didn’t have to pretend to agree with the column’s advice. Usually, she believed every word, but this week … the sentiment simply didn’t ring true. If a genuine connection was enough to reunite lovers, she would be spending the night with Reese. She’d be spending the rest of her life with him.

  But some obstacles—like duty to one’s family and the scars of war—couldn’t be overcome. Not even with true love.

  At the conclusion of the meeting, Sophie sought out Violet and handed her a basket filled with fruits and cheeses. “A little something for you,” she said surreptitiously. “How are you feeling?”

  “Large and unusually clumsy,” Violet said mirthfully. “But I cannot complain. I told my mother about the babe, and she took the news better than I expected: one day of hysterics, followed by two days of not speaking to me, followed by a great deal of worrying.” The dark-haired woman gave a matter-of-fact shrug of her shoulders. “It was the best result I could hope for.”

  “I’m glad you told her.” Sophie stacked a couple of plates and teacups on her tray, eager to finish tidying the shop so she could head to Fiona’s house. “You must be relieved to have someone you can talk with about your situation.”

  “Yes, but I’d rather hoped to see Sarah tonight. She shares more information than my mother does. Whenever I ask Mama a question about pregnancy or childbirth, she just looks at the ceiling, wrings her hands, and tells me I mustn’t dwell on such things.”

  Sophie had noticed Sarah’s absence too. “It’s not like her to miss a meeting,” she said. “I hope neither she nor the girls have taken ill.”

  “She’s been so kind to me,” Violet said. “Even though it’s obvious she misses her husband terribly and has her hands full with the young ones.”

  Sophie set down her tray and tilted her head. “Do you know what happened to her husband?”

  “He was in the army,” Violet said. “He died fighting on the Continent.”

  “How awful.” A strange awareness, a sort of tingling, shivered down Sophie’s spine. Surely, Sarah’s husband couldn’t be …

  Using last names was a clear violation of the rules, but Sophie had to know. Quietly, she said, “Forgive me for asking, but would you happen to know Sarah’s surname?”

  Violet nodded. “She gave me her address a couple of weeks ago and told me I shouldn’t hesitate to call on her if I needed anything. I believe her last name’s Conroy.”

  Chapter 24

  Later that evening, Sophie sat on the settee in Fiona’s studio, wringing her hands as she and Fiona waited for Lily to arrive—so she could tell them what she’d decided.

  “You’re worrying me,” Fiona said, pacing in front of her easel. “You’re not ill, are you?”

  “No,” Sophie quickly assured her.

  “Good.” Fiona halted, then snapped her concerned gaze to Sophie’s. “Please, tell me you’re not moving far away.”

  “I’m not. At least, I don’t think I am.” She painted on a smile. “Nothing so dire,” she said, even though the thought of giving up something so precious filled her with a keen sense of loss.

  “I can’t stand the suspense,” Fiona said with a frown.

  “I’m sorry. Lily should be here any minute.” Fiona and Lily needed to hear the news at the same time, and Sophie didn’t want to wait till their usual meeting time in the morning.

  Now that she’d made her decision, every moment she kept it to herself felt like a betrayal of her friends. Sophie wasn’t used to keeping secrets from them—especially not about The Debutante’s Revenge, which was the project of their hearts and seemed to be at the very center of their friendship.

  Almost on cue, Lily breezed into the room, her dark curls floating around her face. “I came straightaway,” she said breathlessly. “Are you all right, Soph?”

  “Of course,” Sophie said. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. But I do have something important to say.”

  Lily sank onto the settee beside her, reached for her hand, and gave it a squeeze. “Does this have something to do with the gentleman you’ve been spending time with? If he’s hurt you in any way, I’ll find out who he is and—”

  “No,” Sophie interjected. “This is about Lord Singleton. I’m meeting with him tomorrow, and I’m going to tell him I’m ready to move forward with our…” The word stuck in her throat like a dry scone, but she choked it out. “… Betrothal.”

  “Oh,” Fiona said, searching Sophie’s face. “That’s, erm … wonderful?”

  Sophie exhaled. There was no use in pretending to be happy. Her friends would see through her if she claimed to be thrilled about the prospect of marrying the marquess, but she owed him her respect, nonetheless.

  “It’s not the love match I’d hoped for,” Sophie confessed. “Not like the relationships you both are so fortunate to have. But Lord Singleton has generously offered to assist my family and I’m sure he’ll be a kind husband. I’m hopeful that, over time, our feelings for each other will grow into something warm and … affectionate.”

  Lily’s nose wrinkled as though she’d smelled a rotting mushroom. “You do not love him.”

  “Not yet,” Sophie said, doing her best to inject a bit of enthusiasm into her voice. She simply couldn’t imagine herself ever feeling something like passion for the marquess. “Perhaps in time.”

  “And what of the gentleman you’ve been seeing?” Fiona asked. “How do you feel about him?”

  I love him, Sophie wanted to say. But revealing the truth to her friends would only make matters worse. “My feelings for him are irrelevant. I need to do what is best for my family—and so I shall.”

  “Must you rush into this?” Lily asked, her beautiful green eyes tinged with sadness. “Why not wait a few more months? Perhaps your family’s circumstances will improve.”

  Sophie shook her head firmly. “I’m afraid time has run out. Mama has already had to let most of the staff go. Worse, yesterday I found out that Lord Singleton paid off s
everal of my father’s debts with the understanding that we’d soon wed.”

  “Oh, Sophie.” Fiona rushed to her other side so that she was sandwiched between the friends she loved like sisters. Pulling her into a hug, Fiona said, “You should have told us. Lily and I would have helped.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Sophie said, cursing the sob that threatened. “Besides, it would only have delayed the inevitable. I made a promise to Lord Singleton, and I must keep it.” She gave a hollow little laugh. “Listen to me, complaining about marrying a decent, handsome man and having to assume the duties of a marchioness. I must be mad to feel even a twinge of sadness. Pray, do not waste your pity on me.”

  “You don’t need to pretend with us,” Lily said, squeezing her hand tighter. “I wish there was another way.”

  So did Sophie. But there wasn’t. Even if she could find a solution to her family’s financial woes and bring herself to break things off with Lord Singleton—which would be unforgivable, considering the kindness and patience he’d shown—it wasn’t as though Reese had offered marriage. He was too preoccupied with fighting his demons, too busy enumerating his shortcomings, to envision a future that included love or happiness or … her.

  “There’s no other way,” Sophie choked out. “But I intend to make the best of my situation and be a supportive, dutiful wife.”

  Lily squished her face again, but Fiona shot her a scolding look. To Sophie, she said, “Whatever you do, we will support you. Our trio sticks together, no matter what.”

  Sophie swallowed the enormous knot in her throat. “There’s something else,” she said. “It’s about The Debutante’s Revenge and the Debutante Underground. As much as I’ve loved being a part of both projects, I’m afraid it’s time for me to step back from them. I can’t tell Lord Singleton about my role, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to continue sneaking around once we’re married.”