Magnus wondered if it was true and there were nine degrees of hell, because if there were, then he must currently be very close to the epicenter.
For many reasons.
Miss Sophia Marchment was not the middle-aged or elderly headmistress he had been expecting.
The rising of his rebellious cock the moment he saw her was testament to that.
The woman was also completely without respect for the social niceties which Magnus had always lived by and believed prevented the country from descending into a state of anarchy.
Having already decided that he would not send Clarissa to Miss Marchment’s school, he now found himself exceedingly annoyed at having her declare Clarissa did not suit.
Not only had this woman dared to interview Magnus, but she had no qualms about telling him he had failed that interview.
Because of his personality.
What the fuck did that even mean?
There, he was swearing now, if only inside his head, when he could not remember the last time he had needed to so much as raise his voice, let alone resort to cursing.
As a pinnacle to all the other indignities of this morning, Clarissa had arrived back early from her shopping and was now staring at Sophia Marchment with a decidedly contemptuous expression.
His daughter turned her accusing gray gaze on him. “Is this the reason you were so determined I should go out shopping this morning? So that you could bring your mistress here and fuck her in your study while I was gone?”
Jesus Christ…!
He really had descended into hell.
One where his daughter used words Magnus was not even aware she knew in order to accuse him of fucking the first woman he had responded to on a physical level for a long time, but who also felt no qualms in informing him his personality was somehow lacking. In what way, Magnus had no idea, but Clarissa’s accusation, on top of everything else he had suffered on his daughter’s behalf this morning, was positively the last straw.
“You will not use such crude language in my presence or anyone else’s,” he bit out coldly as he strode out from behind his desk.
“I shall use whatever language I please if you have the right to sneak your mistress into our home and debauch her over your desk,” his daughter came back rebelliously. “Aunt Susan will be most displeased,” she added with a sly glance in his direction.
“I do not give a f…damn”—Magnus replaced the word he had been going to use with something less crude—“what your Aunt Susan thinks about anything.”
“You will,” Clarissa said knowingly.
“I most certainly—”
“Your Grace.” Sophia Marchment placed a gentle hand on his forearm. “Clarissa, you will first apologize to your father before going to your bedchamber to contemplate this disgraceful public display of a lack of respect toward the father who obviously loves you.”
Clarissa glared at her. “Why should I?”
“Because if you do not, I shall be forced to punish you for your disrespectful behavior.”
Clarissa snorted. “You do not have the right to punish me for anything.”
“But I shall have once you become a pupil at my school.”
Magnus found it impossible not to stare as incredulously at Sophia Marchment as his daughter was now doing.
The irritating woman had stated quite plainly, only minutes ago, that his personality was such that she would not admit Clarissa into her school, and now she appeared to have done a complete about-face on the subject. After meeting Clarissa and his daughter had sworn and accused the other woman of being his mistress. Of his having fucked her across the desk in his study.
Exactly when had Clarissa grown to an age that she even knew such language? Definitely whilst Magnus had been looking the other way. Because it seemed only minutes ago to him, Clarissa stood no higher than his knees and followed him adoringly about the house, much to Lucy’s chagrin.
And Sophia Marchment, more than any other woman Magnus had ever met, was a complete enigma to him.
One that his rebellious cock, once again engorged and throbbing inside his pantaloons, told him it totally approved of.
What did his cock, an organ over which Magnus had little control, know about anything? Most especially in regard to having an erection for a woman as independent and outspoken as Sophia Marchment had proved to be.
Something which had been confirmed by her lack of awkwardness in revealing she was staying in the young and eligible Earl of Royston’s home without a chaperone. The earl was almost a decade younger than Magnus, and it was well known, as well as talked about, that he was a rake and a wastrel—
Damn it, was that jealousy Magnus was now feeling toward the younger man? Because Sophia Marchment obviously liked Royston far more than she liked him.
Unbelievable.
He had never suffered a moment’s jealousy in his life before.
Because I have never been interested enough in any woman before now to feel that emotion.
Damned if Magnus knew what he was feeling anymore. In regard to Sophia Marchment or anything else.
It was a lack of certainty which annoyed him intensely.
Clarissa appeared to be suffering a similar emotion as the flush of temper faded from her cheeks, leaving them pale. “You are Miss Marchment?”
“Indeed,” the headmistress confirmed briskly. “You will apologize. Immediately.”
Magnus only just stopped himself from apologizing—for heaven knows what!—in response to Sophia Marchment using that authoritative tone of voice. Her transformation from a beautiful if outspoken young lady into the role of stern headmistress was daunting, to say the least.
Clarissa obviously thought so too. “I apologize for my rudeness, Papa.” She moved up on tiptoe to kiss him warmly on the cheek before turning back to face the older woman. “I also apologize to you, Miss Marchment. I had no idea you would be calling this morning,” she added almost shyly.
Blonde brows rose over calm blue eyes. “Do you consider that an acceptable excuse for the things you accused your father and me of doing when you arrived?”
Clarissa looked down at the carpet. “No.”
“No,” Sophia Marchment agreed. “What should you do now?”
“Go to my bedchamber and contemplate my disgraceful public display of a lack of respect toward Papa, who obviously loves me,” Clarissa quoted the other woman’s instruction word for word.
“Well?” the headmistress demanded as Clarissa remained exactly where she was.
“Sorry.” Clarissa looked completely flustered as she gave a polite curtsey. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Marchment.”
“I wish I could say the same,” the older woman snapped her disapproval. A disapproval which remained in evidence until Clarissa had fled the study and closed the door behind her. At which time, Sophia Marchment turned toward Magnus with a smile curving those full red lips. “Your daughter is delightful, Your Grace,” she said warmly.
Clarissa was delightful? Magnus loved his daughter very much, but that did not mean he was not also completely conversant with her faults. Clarissa was rebellious, outspoken, and obviously had a tendency toward jumping to conclusions. She was also prone to those temper tantrums when she did not get her own way.
The frown cleared from Magnus’s brow as he realized Sophia Marchment also possessed those first two qualities. “You wish for your pupils to have the same strength of character you possess yourself.”
She nodded. “I do.”
“Something you believed would be lacking in Clarissa because of my own personality.”
“Yes.” Her gaze no longer quite met his. “For which I owe you an apology, Your Grace. It was wrong of me to make such that assumption based upon our few minutes of conversation.”
“Indeed it was.” Magnus’s previous displeasure dissolved and turned into something else entirely. Something that caused his gaze to level on, and remain fixed upon, Sophia’s pouting red lips as he took a dete
rmined step toward her. “Perhaps in future you will not be so quick to make snap judgments in regard to me,” he murmured as he pulled her firmly into his arms, the softness of her body curved against his much harder one, before lowering his head to claim those delicious lips with his own.
The kiss from the austere and haughty Duke of Weston was so unexpected that Sophia gave no reaction for several long seconds. By which time her traitorous body had betrayed her. Her nipples were engorged, and there was a dampness between her thighs. That arousal took over rational thought, and all Sophia was capable of doing was returning the heat of that kiss.
A wild and passionate kiss that reached deep into the depths of her, easily igniting the desire Sophia had been at pains to repress all these years.
Her hands moved up Weston’s chest to grasp his shoulders as he deepened the kiss even further by stroking the rasp of his tongue across and then between her sensitive lips before entering the heat beyond to seek out and claim every moist curve and hollow.
Sophia felt as if she were drowning, submerged beneath passion and desire rather than water, her nipples pulsing to the same beat as her heart and between her thighs having become swollen and aching. She could also feel the pulsing length of Weston’s long and thick arousal pressing against her abdomen.
She drew in a gasping breath when Weston at last released his claim on her mouth. A respite from that passionate onslaught that was short-lived, as his lips traveled across her cheek to bite the sensitive lobe of her ear before he moved them down the length of her throat.
Sophia gasped as she felt those sharp teeth at the hollow between her neck and shoulder. Hard enough it was sure to leave a bruise. “Your Grace—”
“Magnus.”
“Your Grace,” she repeated firmly. “You will release me this instant, or I shall be forced to raise my knee and strike you in a place of delicacy which will not only dampen your passion now but possibly for the foreseeable future.”
Magnus’s passion was higher than he could ever remember it being before. Nor was Sophia’s empty threat a laughing matter.
Even so, he could not help the throaty chuckle that escaped him. She might be tall for a woman but he was much taller, also his body was twice the size of hers and— “Bloody hell!” His breath left him in a whoosh the moment Sophia’s knee came into contact with his balls, the sudden pain causing his eyes to water as it reverberated up the length of his cock and then back down again.
His arms fell to his sides, and he took a step back to bend over as he inwardly fought the instinct to grasp his balls and cock. As it was, he could only be thankful he had not screamed like a girl, although he had a feeling his initial outburst had been several octaves higher than his customary deep tone.
“I did warn you.”
Magnus looked up at Sophia through watery eyes to find her gazing back at him with a distinct lack of sympathy as she straightened her lace gloves.
“It was only a kiss, damn it.”
“One I did not invite nor encourage.” There were two bright spots of color in her cheeks. “I also, as I have said, gave you fair warning.”
Magnus blinked away the excess water from his eyes as he slowly straightened. “Will you be teaching Clarissa to do that?”
“Most certainly.”
“Good.”
Sophia’s eyes widened. “Good?”
He nodded. “I like the idea of my daughter being able to defend herself against gentlemen who might press their unwanted attentions upon her.”
“As you did to me.”
“I believe I used seduction rather than force,” he defended.
“Semantics.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded dryly as some of the pain in his balls began to recede. Although he had a feeling, as Sophia had warned, that he might feel the bruising for some time. “It would seem that yet another member of the Spencer family owes you an apology.”
“It seems the Spencer family are prone to talk of apology but never actually make one,” she snapped seconds later when he added nothing further.
Again, this was no laughing matter, and Magnus’s balls still ached like the very devil—he had no idea how he was going to go about asking Welch, his valet, to provide him with ice so as to reduce the swelling of his balls—but even so, Magnus once again found himself smiling at this woman’s audacity. “I apologize most profusely for having behaved in an ungentlemanly manner.” He gave a formal bow to accompany the apology, still slightly surprised that he had behaved in such a forward way and so thoroughly enjoyed doing so.
Sophia had taken the last few minutes to gather her scattered wits. The last thing she had been expecting when she came to Weston House today was to have the duke kiss her.
According to Royston, the source of her previous knowledge of the duke, Weston was considered something of a cold fish in regard to the ladies. He was known to have lived a virtually celibate life since the death of his wife a decade ago. Although quite what Royston meant by “virtually celibate,” Sophia did not know; one either was celibate or one was not. Considering the dominating passion with which Weston had just kissed her, Sophia believed in his case it must be was not.
Sophia had assumed—another assumption she should not have made—that the lack of females in Weston’s bed these past years must mean that he must have loved his deceased wife very much and was now faithful to her memory. The sureness of his kiss and the silent demand she reciprocate did not speak of a gentleman who had pined for his dead wife for years and chosen to live as a monk.
Royston had also told her that the duke was known to be a somewhat humorless and standoffish man, hence the austere and haughty comment. Another myth, considering the number of times Weston had either laughed or chuckled in the past few minutes.
And managed to look even more handsome when he did so.
Well…yes, he had, Sophia acknowledged grudgingly. But that did not mean Weston had the right to simply up and kiss a woman totally without warning and on what appeared to have been a whim. She—
“Join Clarissa and me for dinner this evening.”
Sophia looked at the duke sharply. “I have agreed to accept your daughter as a pupil into my school in September, if that is still what you wish, but that does not necessitate the two of us having to meet again on any sort of social level.”
“I am afraid it does,” Weston came back mildly.
“Why does it?” she demanded waspishly.
“I have no idea as to the feelings of the parents of your other pupils, but I have no intention of allowing my daughter to go off to spend months at a time in Portsmouth under the care of a woman I have only just met. Furthermore,” Magnus added before Sophia could make the sharp reply he could see poised upon those cherry-red lips, “I also feel it is important that Clarissa and you meet again under pleasanter circumstances.”
“And will Aunt Susan be present during these pleasanter circumstances?” she taunted.
Interesting that out of all that Clarissa had said and accused earlier, it was that offhand reference to his sister-in-law that Sophia chose to refer to again.
Because, despite Sophia’s protestations, she had enjoyed being kissed by Magnus?
He had certainly enjoyed kissing her. More than any woman during any of his youthful misdemeanors or after his marriage to Lucy. He had preferred not to kiss those few ladies of the demimonde he had occasionally spent time with until two years ago.
Sophia’s mouth was just as luscious as it looked, her lips as soft as feather pillows, her mouth tasting of something delicious.
Damn it, he now had an extremely painful cockstand again merely thinking of the taste of Sophia’s soft and delectable lips.
“No doubt my daughter’s maternal aunt will have plans of her own that do not include us,” he dismissed coolly.
It was, Sophia decided, a strange way in which to refer to his sister-in-law and the sister of his deceased wife.
But she had asked enough questions of Magnus Spenc
er today. Too many, if he thought their manner of conversation gave him the right to kiss her.
A kiss I did not actively dislike, despite putting such a painful end to it. For Weston, that is. Although I do not believe I escaped the encounter as unmoved as I might have wished either.
Sophia had always believed in being as honest with herself as she was with others.
She had been intrigued, before she even met the duke, by what she had been told of Magnus Spencer.
Been struck by his handsome good looks the moment she set eyes on him.
Amused by the shock at her youth he had not been quick enough to hide.
She had enjoyed the battle of wits of their conversation that followed.
Been pleasantly surprised that his dominant personality had not, as she had believed, stripped his young daughter of all character.
I also responded to the raw passion of Magnus’s kiss.
The latter was what surprised Sophia the most.
It had been ten years—the same amount of time since Weston’s wife died, strangely enough—but she had never forgotten, would never forget, the sequence of events that had resulted in her life being as it was now.
Solitary.
Secluded.
Safe.
Oh, she had a few friends with whom she socialized and visited, Royston being one of them, and her girls at the school, both past and present, whom she cared for and nurtured. But sadly, those things a woman of her age had usually attained by now, a marriage and children of her own, could never be a part of Sophia’s life.
Never one to dwell on what might have been, Sophia instead drew in a fortifying breath. “I am afraid I already have plans for this evening.”
Magnus barely managed to contain his irritation as he wondered if Royston featured in these other “plans.” The other man was tall, dark, and handsome enough, admittedly, but his reputation with the ladies surely forfeited his right to be with someone as beautiful and desirable as Sophia. “Tomorrow evening, then?” he pressed.
She frowned her displeasure. “You are very persistent, Your Grace.”
Magnus gave a chuckle—something he seemed to have done several times today in Sophia’s company. “The Spencers are known for their stubbornness as well as a lack of apology.”
Craving (Regency Lovers 3) Page 2