by Meg Buchanan
Dark eyes looked to the mirror then back, and she nodded again.
He rolled away from her, pushed himself off the bed, and stood at the end. Freed she lifted her head and supported her bodyweight on her elbows still watchful.
He knelt and removed one slipper from her foot, then the other. He smoothed the first foot gently then moved his palm from her instep, along the inside of her calf, to her knee, pushing the silk skirts away as he went. He followed with his mouth delicately and unhurriedly. Then started again on the other foot. Kissing and caressing, he worked his way gradually higher.
“What are you doing?” she asked, watching him over the billow of cream silk.
He stood, reached over her, his weight on his fist in the covers and touched her lip with his finger. “Shhh,” he said and kissed her where he’d touched. “Be good.”
Kneeling again he pushed the fabric still higher and slowly with fingertips and lips, moved along the inside of each thigh, so smooth and cream, framed in a cloud of silk. He continued the caresses with hands and mouth, touching, tasting, savouring, using all his senses to engage hers.
When her head fell back, and she sunk into the bed again, he pressed her legs apart, moved his mouth to where he’d imagined in the dressing room. Opening her to his lips, heard the intake of breath as he kissed and tasted and breathed in the scent of her.
As the touches deepened, he felt her body start to move. Heard her breath quicken, saw the hands clutch at the velvet and her body arch. He pushed the silk above her waist, placed his palm in her stomach’s hollow, slid his other arm under her. Lifted her and used his lips and hand to follow her rhythm and went deeper with his mouth.
He heard a soft gasp whisper from her once, and then again and again. Rising and rising to the sensation, pushing against him, until her body shuddered and sunk down into the bed still trembling under feather soft strokes.
She lay quietly, eyes closed. He smoothed her skirts back down over her body, covering her again, then stretched out beside her.
She opened her eyes, turned her head to look at him. She tentatively touched his lips then slid her fingers over the planes of his face like she was seeing him for the first time.
“Oh,” she said quietly with an upward curve to the sound. “I didn’t know about that. Does everyone do that?”
“Not everyone,” he answered. “Did you like it?”
He watched her tilt her head to one side and consider her answer.
“I think so,” she said tentatively. “What do we do now?”
“Sit up.”
With her inhibitions awash in champagne, she lifted her arms up to help him remove her dress then lay back naked on the sheets.
She was a very quick learner, an eager pupil. The deflowering would have been possible to accomplish, and she would have been willing, but she was drunk. Instead he forgot about the mirror that was some type of window and stopped worrying if they had an audience. Teaching Sophie to play was no chore. She became aware of how fingers and lips and limbs could entwine and tease and accepted variations on the theme. A rivulet of champagne licked by an ice-cold tongue, the caress of ice after the warmth of a mouth, and reciprocity.
Then, they both rested in the bed, he lay face down on the sheets still half-covering her, quite still. She was watching the shadows on the ceiling, then untangling their legs, turned carefully onto her side, and timidly ran her fingers down the furrow of his spine to the two hollows at the base and stopped there.
“You can keep going if you like.” His voice was muffled by the bedding. She snatched her hand away. He rolled over and looked at her. Her hair was coal-black in the soft light of the lamps. It tumbled around her shoulders and breasts. The breasts small and perfectly shaped. Her skin a deathly cream. Cheeks and lips a shadow. He held her gaze for a time, then lay his head on her shoulder and she stroked his face and hair.
As they lay together, he marvelled at the perfection of her naked body, the beauty of her face, her lips, her eyes, the softness of her hair, the delicacy of her hands, the sweetness of her complete trust.
And the strength of his own self-control. Taking her would have been easy. They did almost everything else. But he’d made her a promise, and he kept his word.
Eugene knocked on the door just before midnight. “Courts, I’m calling it a night, are you coming?”
Courtney pulled on his trousers, padded to the door barefoot, and opened it.
Eugene studied him. “You don’t look ready to go back to the suite.”
“Go without me,” Courtney leaned on the architrave. “I’m going to stay with Sophie.”
Eugene didn’t question the change of plan. “All right. See you in the morning perhaps.”
Standing beside the bed, undressing again, he watched Sophie turn over slowly like she was half asleep. Her eyes glanced at his nakedness. Then up to his chest, then his face.
“Who was that?” she asked in a remote way.
“Eugene, he’s going back to his room.”
“Are you going too?”
“No, I’ll stay until morning.”
She nodded almost like this was part of a dream, and lifted the bedcovers to let him back in. As he climbed into the bed, she turned away curling up like she expected he would curl up around her.
He lay by her, and without pulling the covers over them again, he stayed leaning on his elbow. Cheek resting on his palm he contemplated the shadows of her in the half-dark. The perfect curves and hollows. Then examined the tenderness in himself, measuring the infinite yearning, so new. A crushing need he’d never felt before.
He ran his hand along her back and over her buttocks, studying her. He slid his hand between her thighs and imagined what it would be like to be buried there. His heart compressed as he felt her sink back into his palm. His response to the small movement was disturbingly powerful.
He took his hand away and moved it to the curve of her hip. He slid his body closer to hers, and ran his fingertips along her waist, splayed his fingers across the hollow of her stomach. Then brushed across each nipple and felt the echo of them, as he heard her sigh. He pressed his forehead to her shoulder, trying to control this unwanted desire for her. The desire to finish what they’d started.
“I’ll get you out of here,” he said quietly.
“How?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. I need to think about it.
Sophie turned over. She touched his hair, ran her fingers along the side of his face. He moved his mouth to capture her fingertips. She smiled up at him, freed her hand and ran her palm down his chest and over his stomach, examining him the way he’d examined her. Then curled up against him again, and they both slept.
After daybreak, and before he left her bed, Sophie curled up closer and pulled the sheet tight around their bodies. “You will come back?”
He nodded.
“Will you tell Miss Pryor you’re happy with me?”
“I’ll tell her.”
Sophie smiled, and he put his mouth close to her ear. “Be careful. Don’t annoy Charlotte.”
“I won’t.” Sophie hesitantly traced the shape of his lips. “I’ll watch what happens and see if I can find anything that will help,” she offered, still in the quietest whisper.
“Good girl.”
“You were right,” she said after a while, looking up through her lashes, smiling.
“About what?” he asked as he pushed the sheet back.
“Faire l'amour c’est beau,” she said seriously. He kissed her to keep up the pretence he was her lover by choice, then rolled over her. It was late. He had to go. He sat on the edge of the bed, his legs over the side, thinking about finding his clothes. They were on the floor where Sophie dropped them when she undressed him.
He looked back at her lying there smiling. She was appealing, tousled, and sweet. He leaned over her and whispered in her ear. “It gets even better with practice.”. Then meaning to tease her, not thinking how his words could be taken,
he said, “And it is a lot better if you finish what you start.”
“Oh.” Her face clouded over, and she flicked a glance at the mirror.
He’d forgotten how young she was, how inexperienced, how unsure. He stood picked up his shirt, pushed his hands into the sleeves, shrugged it over his shoulders and started doing up the buttons. Then he went to pick up his trousers, changed his mind and sat back down beside her, stroked her cheek and kissed her again.
“I think you were perfect,” he whispered to reassure her. “You’re lovely, I’m happy. If Charlotte was watching, she’ll be happy.”
“Vraiment?” she whispered.
“Truly.” She smiled hesitantly.
And as an afterthought. “Tell Charlotte I like undergarments,” he whispered
“Do you?” Sophie whispered back.
“I have no opinion either way. But I thought you might be more comfortable dressed properly, and tell her I want whiskey in the room, not champagne.”
Sophie nodded.
As he passed the office on his way back to Eugene’s room, he saw Charlotte in there. As predicted, she interrogated him.
“Did you enjoy your evening, Courtney?” she asked seriously.
“Very much.”
“Will you return?” Charlotte was coy now. “Will you see Sophie again?”
Obediently he said he would like Sophie to be waiting for him tomorrow evening, the way she was yesterday, and he wanted her kept exclusively for him.
Payment wasn’t mentioned, but he was sure it would be in due course.
What he hadn’t said was, last night the lovemaking was overwhelming, rough and gentle, tender and sumptuous, voluptuous and sensual all at once, like nothing he’d experienced before.
It left him breathless, clinging, and unbelieving. He’d always been able to enjoy any woman then walk away easily without looking back.
With Sophie, he found he wanted to hold her forever, protect her and keep her safe. Feeling this way was new, and he found it difficult to believe he managed to leave.
Chapter 10
COURTNEY RODE OUT to William’s property. He needed to let William know Eugene would organise Seb and Finn to help.
William saw him arrive. John was there too.
“Are they coming?” John asked as Courtney dismounted.
Courtney nodded. “Eugene said to tell you he’ll make sure they were here Monday.”
“You happy with that?” William asked John.
John nodded. “They know what they’re doing. With them helping we can clear that rockfall in a few days and then get on with our lives. I’ll see you in the morning.”
John left, and Courtney went inside with William.
“Has something else happened?” William asked.
“Sort of.” He needed to let William know he was going back to the club tonight. “Do you remember the girl at the club I told you about?”
“The one that’s too young for you?” Bloody William had the same expression on his face that Eugene’s had when he knocked on the door.
“That’s her.”
“Sophie, wasn’t it?”
Courtney nodded. “She’s a prisoner. Charlotte’s forcing her to work at the club.” He couldn’t believe he left her at Charlotte’s mercy.
“How does that happen?”
“Her father has given her in payment for some gambling debt.”
“That can’t be legally binding.”
“I suspect paying your gambling debts with your daughter’s body is completely illegal.”
“Go to the law.”
“No, Charlotte warned Sophie she’d be moved the moment she heard anything. You should see who goes to her club, she’ll know long before anyone gets there. I’m going to get Sophie out.”
“When?”
“I’m not sure, tonight probably. I have a bit of a plan. That’s what I came to tell you. I’m going back to the club now. I don’t want Charlotte thinking I’ve tired of Sophie.”
“What a burden, Eugene says Sophie is very pretty,” said William with a grin. “Why would Charlotte do this?”
“You are the one who ‘knew’ Charlotte. You probably have a better idea than me.”
“Money is my guess.”
“That’s my thinking. What do you think she’ll do if I take Sophie away?”
“Don’t know. Do you need help?”
“No, I think I can do it, but I don’t know when I’ll be back.” If he could get her out of the grounds, he’d stash her near the road, go back to the club, change his clothes, then pick her up and take her on to Thames. Simple plan. But then he’d need to get her somewhere safe, and there was no knowing how long that would take.
“What will you do with her?”
“Probably take her to her mother in Auckland, then try to get them both away.”
In his room at home, he tidied himself up a bit but didn’t bother with evening clothes. He’d wear Eugene’s again, he didn’t want to be stuck in his tuxedo in broad daylight, trying to get Sophie to her mother.
He found his mother in the kitchen. He didn’t want to be on horseback either, he needed something else. “I’m going to the club in Maratoto.”
“Again?” His mother looked disappointed. “I hoped we could eat together. Alice is still with Eliza, she wants to be with the little girls for Christmas day, so I’m alone.”
“You should have joined Alice.”
“No, I promised the vicar I’d help with the Nativity play tomorrow. Are you sure you can’t stay?
He shook his head. “A prior engagement,” he said. “I’m borrowing the trap.”
When he arrived at the club, men were erecting tents outside and stringing lanterns in the tall trees on the boundary. They must be preparing for some celebration. He pulled the trap up near the entrance and Sophie flew down the steps to meet him, her lips smiled, her eyes shone, her hair tumbled. A dress of the finest pale pink silk clung to her body, and a cream sash floated behind her. She barely took the time to hold her skirt, so she didn’t trip. She was beautiful.
He got off the trap, and she flung her arms around his neck. “Courtney, I was so afraid you wouldn’t come.” Her delight seemed genuine and he would be flattered under any other circumstances but could see Charlotte standing in the doorway watching carefully so probably Sophie was just acting her part.
“Of course, I was coming,” he said jokingly. “Je ne pouvais pas rester loin de la perfection.” He said it for Charlotte’s benefit as much as Sophie’s.
Sophie paused, half pleased, half doubtful like that was too much for the cold light of day. “Really?” she asked, smiling. Then caught her bottom lip with her teeth. “Perfect?” Then she glanced away to see what he was looking at.
He saw her catch sight of Charlotte standing by the door, a malevolent bird of paradise and Sophie’s face crumpled. She slowly removed her arms from around his neck and stepped back. She rested her hand on his shoulder, kissed his cheek without looking at him, turned and took his arm.
“You will want to change.” She looked hurt and had gone back to the brittle smile of last evening. She concentrated on gazing anywhere except in his direction.
He was certain she’d just remembered they were acting and knew that what he said was loud enough for Charlotte to hear, not just for her as she’d thought at first. He was completely capable of saying the wrong thing and offending the person he was with, and he’d done it again, but usually the possible consequences weren’t so horrifying.
Back in Eugene’s evening clothes, he arrived alone in the foyer and Charlotte was waiting for him. Sophie hadn’t come to the suite. She’d informed him she knew he could dress himself, and she’d meet him at the bar.
“What did you say to Sophie when you arrived?” asked Charlotte.
“That she’s perfect.” Despite an apparent ability to sulk.
Charlotte preened with the success of having found a jewel as they went into the dining room. “Do you like her gown?
I had it made, isn’t it sweet?” Charlotte, the arch conspirator, the matchmaker congratulating herself on a job well done.
Sophie, in the sweet pink silk gown, was waiting by the bar and must have heard what Charlotte said, She rolled her eyes in mockery. It was a small movement, just a fleeting thing but unsafe. She should have more sense in a room filled with mirrors and Charlotte’s henchmen.
“Flawless.” He moved towards Sophie and took her arm. He’d get her seated and out of Charlotte’s sphere.
At their table, he pulled a chair out, and Sophie sat, managing to do it without acknowledging he was there.
“Enjoy your meal,” said Charlotte and patted him gently on the shoulder like a proud mother then sailed away across the dining room.
Courtney sat beside Sophie. “That was unwise,” he said quietly. He couldn’t do anything to help her if she didn’t keep up the pretence of wanting to please.
Sophie picked up her glass and sipped delicately, staring, eyes filled with hate, at Charlotte as the woman walked away. “What was unwise?” she asked in a voice still full of hurt feelings and dignity.
This wasn’t the time or place to discuss what had upset Sophie enough to make her behave this way.
He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “We’ll talk about it later, now behave yourself.” He’d get Sophie away from the club, but until he did, she had to live within Charlotte’s rules.
“You’re not my father,” she whispered back angrily, still defiant.
“I should hope not.” He opened his table napkin and spread it on her lap, deliberately trailing his fingertips over her hip and along the side of her leg. “That would make the rest of the night a little strange.” It was a poor joke, and she glared then stared down at where his hand was still resting on her thigh, obviously tempted to push it away and make the scene she would have made a week ago if anyone dared touch her.