When some semblance of clarity returned to her, she found Nate looking down at her, a soft smile curving his mouth. “At the risk of sounding cocky, I think you enjoyed the lesson, sweet Sophie.”
“You know I did,” she murmured, barely able to speak or even smile. Her limbs felt languid and heavy as though her bones had melted. The aftermath of such blinding pleasure reminded her of basking in the warm golden glow of the summer sun. “For my first time, it was . . . momentous. An occasion to remember. Thank you, Lord Malverne.”
“You’re more than welcome, Miss Brightwell.”
As he brushed soft kisses on her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and at last, her lips, he began to adjust her night attire.
Was the lesson over? It appeared so as Nate tied the ribbon securing her night rail and the sash of her robe once more.
Nate had spoiled her, well and truly, but she couldn’t help feeling things were incomplete. She’d achieved satisfaction. But Nate hadn’t. When she sat up and dropped her gaze to his lap, she could clearly see his manhood tenting his shirt and trousers.
She reached out a hand and grazed her fingertips over his marble-hard chest, then rested her palm against it. His heart was thudding, galloping, and she could feel the rough rise and fall of his rib cage as he drew breath. Dare she ask him for a little more instruction?
“I don’t think we’re finished yet,” she murmured in a velvet-soft voice. “I think there are other things I need tuition in.” She glanced meaningfully at his groin. “How am I to ensnare a rake if I don’t know how to please him?”
Nate swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet room. A wry smile played around his lips. “I’m sure he’d be happy to show you himself at this particular point.”
She smiled and skated her fingers lower until they rested on his rigid abdomen. The edge of her wrist brushed the top of his jutting member, and he hissed through his teeth. “Perhaps. But I want you to show me, Nate. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. What harm can it do?”
She lifted up the edge of his shirt and studied the shape of him. Goodness gracious he was large. “I can see that at least part of you wants me to help you ‘come,’ as you put it.”
Nate hadn’t pulled away and his eyes had darkened to a rich, molten chocolate brown. Emboldened, she gently cupped his length. “Tell me what to do,” she whispered. “I want to give you pleasure too.”
* * *
* * *
He was definitely going to hell if he let Sophie do this.
But when all was said and done, Nate couldn’t resist her. After pleasuring her delicious breasts and sweet, wet quim, after witnessing her first ever orgasm, he was on fire; his cock was hot and throbbing and his balls were tight and heavy, fit to burst.
As Sophie studied him from beneath her long black lashes, another surge of lust and some other potent emotion he didn’t wish to identify swept over him. He caressed her flushed cheek with the back of his fingers. “All right, sweetheart.”
The smile she gave him was so seductive, it nearly had him spending right then and there. “What should I do? May I undo your trousers?”
“Be my guest.” Even though Sophie was gentle, Nate’s cock was so primed, he found the process almost painful as she opened the fall front.
When he sprang forth, her eyes widened and she gasped.
“You can change your mind.” Nate’s voice was threaded with strain as he grasped his shaft at the base. “I know it’s probably quite a shock to see a male of the species in full rut.”
“Yes. It is. But it’s also a fine sight.” Her blue eyes danced with mischief. “I now understand all of the amusing euphemisms in those naughty memoirs we’ve both read. I’m not sure which one suits you best. ‘Truncheon,’ perhaps? Or ‘maypole’?”
Nate almost laughed. The most he could manage was a crooked smile. “Maypole would do,” he said. He wasn’t going to claim a descriptor denoting something smaller.
“Well . . .” Sophie lifted her hand but then dropped it to her lap. Her fingers pleated her robe. “Perhaps . . . would you mind demonstrating a little first?”
Sweet Lord. Just the suggestion of stroking himself as Sophie watched caused a drop of his seed to leak from the ruddy, engorged head.
Sophie’s gaze was riveted to the sight.
“I’m very . . . aroused,” Nate gritted out from between clenched teeth as he slid his fisted hand up and then down. “It won’t take much to send me over the edge, Sophie. Are you prepared for that?”
She swallowed then nodded. “Yes. I want to do this.”
As Sophie wrapped her cool, slender fingers around him, Nate relinquished his hold.
“Oh . . . you’re so hard and soft at the same time.” Her voice was laced with quiet awe. “Like forged iron wrapped in silk.”
Good God. Her words made everything in Nate tighten. Did she know what she was doing to him? He leaned back on stiff arms and watched with avid fascination as Sophie mimicked his movements, sliding up and down, up and down.
He’d never seen anything quite so erotic in his life.
“Am I doing it the right way?” she whispered, glancing up at him as she continued her slow, sensual torture, squeezing him gently as her hand slid from root to tip and back again.
Nate gave a curt nod. “Yes. But don’t be afraid to squeeze harder. And faster. Work me hard, sweetheart.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Very well.” Her grip grew tighter, and the pace of her small pumping fist accelerated. It wasn’t long before Nate could feel his climax gathering at the base of his spine, the tension building, winding tighter. The simmering pressure, the heat in his blood, was climbing, escalating to the boiling point. To the point of no return.
He couldn’t hold back.
“I’m going to . . . Here it comes, sweetheart.” Nate’s balls contracted, and as exquisite pleasure hit him, his whole body stiffened. Eyes closed, he threw his head back, and a deep groan spilled from his throat. As his seed erupted, he was swept away on a hot, pulsating tide of release.
When he opened his eyes, he discovered Sophie was smiling at him with open satisfaction. Even though her fingers were covered in his seed, she didn’t look perturbed at all. She was triumphant.
“I’m so sorry about the mess,” Nate murmured as he sat up. He lifted her hand away from his sticky groin, and with the hem of his cambric shirt, he began to wipe her fingers.
“Don’t apologize, Nate.” Sophie’s eyes glowed with a happiness that seemed to match the warm hum of contentment in his own veins. “I wanted this. I wanted to please you. To return the favor. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Nate nodded as he continued to wipe them both clean. He knew Sophie had chosen to do this, but that didn’t mean he should have gone along with her proposition, no matter how damn tempting. He hadn’t acted with honor and it bothered him. Which was ironic, really, considering what a scoundrel he was.
Sophie might pretend this encounter, this “lesson,” didn’t mean anything to her, but he rather suspected it did. He’d seen it in her eyes. Her smile. Felt it in her touch. If she began to think this relationship—if one could even call it that—would turn into a love match, a “happily ever after,” she was sorely mistaken.
He didn’t want love. He didn’t need love. He’d experienced and seen firsthand the devastating aftermath when tragedy struck and a loved one died, and to him, the pain of loss was intolerable.
Of course, what was done was done, but Nate didn’t want to see Sophie hurt. Somehow, he had to crush down his infatuation—nay, obsession—with Sophie. Even better, rip it from his chest.
And most important, he could never let something like this happen again.
Ever.
CHAPTER 17
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The Beau Monde Mirror: The Essential Style and Etiquette Guide
Hastings House, Berkeley Square, Mayfair
April 24, 1818
What a to-do at London’s most fashionable tea shop!
Tonnish misses trade vicious barbs while patrons take tea . . .
The horrid words glared at Sophie from the Beau Monde Mirror, the infamous newspaper that was really more of a scandal rag. How could she have been so stupid to let down her guard yesterday? She blinked away tears as she sipped her cup of breakfast hot chocolate.
“Oh, Sophie. Please don’t blame yourself. Everything will be all right.” Charlie put down the newspaper on the dining table. The soft expression in her brown eyes suddenly changed, grew hard, the golden flecks sparking with righteous anger. “If I’d been there, you know things would have been much worse. Lady Penelope Purcell would’ve ended up wearing at least one of Gunter’s pies or cakes. I’ve long suspected she has a nasty streak. I’m proud of you for standing up to her.”
Sophie almost laughed at that. She picked at her barely nibbled piece of toast, then pushed her plate away. “I don’t know what possessed me. Honestly I don’t. Lady Penelope was just so rude. And when she mentioned your name, too”—at least the Beau Monde Mirror hadn’t reported that particular detail—“it seemed my anger got the better of me. I’m so sorry. I worry the invitations will be few and far between again. And your father will undoubtedly be livid too.” She dropped her voice. “I know he’d hoped your brother would court the duke’s daughter.”
“Oh, don’t worry about all that. Father will think much less of her when he hears what she’s truly like. So you do not need to apologize. But did you really call Lady Penelope”—Charlie grinned as she picked up the paper again and read—“a cruel, heartless bully, and one of her cronies Miss None of Your Business?”
Sophie’s mouth did twitch with a smile this time. “Yes.”
“Just brilliant.”
“What’s brilliant, sister dearest?”
Sophie’s breath caught as Nate sauntered into the morning room dressed for riding. She didn’t mean to, but she blushed at the sight of him wearing his tight buckskin breeches—because now she knew all about the mysterious bulge hiding behind the fall front. She clutched her wicked hands together beneath the cover of the table at the memory of what she’d done to him. And how much he’d enjoyed it.
Thank heavens Nate hadn’t noticed her self-conscious reaction. Charlie also seemed oblivious to her discomfiture as she pointed at the paper to answer Nate’s question. “This. Well, not the Beau Monde Mirror itself, but Sophie’s inspired setdown of that conceited cow, Lady Penelope Purcell and her equally vile friends at Gunter’s. It’s all there in the article.”
Nate cocked an eyebrow as he picked up the paper and glanced at it. “Ah, it seems yesterday was eventful in more ways than one, Miss Brightwell.”
Even though she willed herself not to react, Sophie’s blush grew hotter because she knew he was really alluding to what they’d done in the library last night. Curse him.
Charlie’s gaze narrowed with suspicion as she glanced between her brother and Sophie. “Why, what else happened?”
Sophie cleared her throat but it was Nate who spoke. “You know. How after Sophie left Gunter’s, that prat, Lord Buxton, accosted her in Berkeley Square?”
Charlie shuddered. “Ah, yes. At least that isn’t in the paper.”
Sophie released a small sigh of relief. She’d related slightly “edited” versions of both incidents as they all shared the slightly squashed treats from Gunter’s in Charlie’s sitting room. She was very careful to leave out the part where Nate had come to her rescue, and Nate hadn’t corrected her—she hadn’t trusted herself not to gush too much about his heroics, thus giving away how much she cared for him. Thankfully, it appeared Charlie didn’t suspect anything else of significance had occurred between her and Nate yesterday. Or to be perfectly accurate, earlier this morning . . .
Nate snatched up a pastry and bit into it with relish.
Charlie frowned. “Aren’t you going to take a seat, Nate?”
He finished chewing, then shrugged. “My valet already brought me coffee, and now I’m about to go riding.”
Charlie lifted her chin. “You should take Sophie with you.”
Sophie shook her head. “Oh, no. I don’t think so,” she said at the same moment Nate added, “I’m sure she wouldn’t want to.”
Charlie frowned at them both. “What rot, Nate. Of course Sophie would want to. And Sophie, whyever wouldn’t you want to go? I can’t go because I’m still not well. But you certainly don’t need me to chaperone. And you both know it’s perfectly acceptable for two close family friends to be seen together in public.”
Nate’s gaze caught Sophie’s. “Well, what do say you, Miss Brightwell? Would you like to come?”
“You can ride my bay mare, Aurora,” added Charlie. “She’s very sweet and well behaved. You’ll love her.”
What could she say? Of course, part of Sophie’s heart thrilled to the idea of being alone in Nate’s company again. After her “lesson” last night, after he tidied them both up, he kissed her forehead and she departed the library with Sense and Sensibility in hand. Initially, she’d been abuzz with satisfaction, but once she reached her room, she realized Nate had barely said a word to her after he “finished.” Not that she’d expected him to converse with her at great length. It had been very late after all. But still . . .
Yes, it would be worthwhile seeing Nate privately, as it would give them the opportunity to discuss how their unconventional relationship would proceed. Even though she’d told him their wicked midnight encounter wouldn’t mean anything, her heart truly wished it did. And she wouldn’t know how Nate was really feeling about the situation unless they had uninterrupted time to speak about it.
So she inclined her head and said, “Yes. All right. That would be lovely, my lord.”
“Wonderful. It’s all decided then.” Charlie rose from her seat and gathered her shawl about her shoulders. “I’ll ring for Molly, and she can help Sophie change into her riding habit.”
Nate’s gaze settled on Sophie. “I will meet you in the vestibule then, in say, fifteen minutes, Miss Brightwell?”
“Yes. Of course.” Sophie stood as well. “I will be as quick as I can.”
Nate’s expression was friendly. His tone agreeable. Although there didn’t seem to be anything overtly amiss about the manner in which he’d just addressed her, she began to get the impression that he was being guarded.
It wasn’t until they were both heading toward Hyde Park on their mounts a half hour later that it struck Sophie—Nate’s teasing tone and the amused twinkle in his eyes were gone.
He was wearing a mask. He was hiding from her.
Even though the sky was a clear bright blue and the spring sun shone warmly through the leafy branches of the lime trees lining the road, Sophie suddenly felt chilled to the bone.
She’d done exactly what she’d tried very hard not to do.
She’d gone too far and she’d scared him away.
She glanced over at Nate as he expertly steered his fine black gelding, Invictus, between two hackney cabs and onto the main bridle path in Hyde Park. Even though he sat tall with a relaxed hold on the reins, there was tension in his handsome face—she could see it in the lines bracketing his wide mouth, and in the distant expression in his brown eyes whenever he gave her a completely cordial smile. Any words he spoke were entirely pleasant and entirely inconsequential. It made Sophie want to scream at him.
But she didn’t. She held her head high, and any smile she returned was equally bland and amiable.
Don’t let him see that you
care. Don’t let him see you are hurt.
Don’t make matters worse.
She smiled ruefully, even as frustrated tears pricked. How much worse could it be than this? She’d thrown herself at Nate, and now he was actively distancing himself from her. And her foolish, wayward heart was beginning to ache.
By the time they reached Rotten Row, Sophie had changed her mind again; resentment had started to simmer, and her tongue burned with the need to say something to Nate about last night. At least he could acknowledge what had passed between them. Even if he didn’t want anything more to happen, she wanted some sort of reassurance that he didn’t think any less of her.
But what if he did?
Sophie lifted her chin. It would be exceedingly hypocritical of him to judge her considering the scandalous things rakehells got up to. It wasn’t fair that society had one set of strict rules controlling the behavior of young women, and none at all for men.
And if Nate did think less of her because of what she’d done, well, she’d rather know that too. One thing she was certain of, being treated like a polite stranger was wearing thin, and quickly.
Nate reined in Invictus by the banks of the Serpentine, and following his lead, Sophie halted Aurora alongside him.
“You ride well, Miss Brightwell,” said Nate in that impeccably polite tone of his that rankled so much.
Before she could stop herself, Sophie blurted out, “Nate, why are you being such an ass?”
Nate’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know what you mean—”
“Of course you do. I told you last night that what we did was nothing more than a lesson. And I meant it. Yet this morning . . .” She drew a steadying breath. “This morning you are behaving as though we are little more than casual acquaintances. I never expected undying protestations of love from you, but neither did I expect you to keep me at such a distance. You’re being perfectly civil yet perfectly annoying at the same time.”
Nate swallowed. “Sophie, I do not mean to hurt you—”
How to Catch a Wicked Viscount Page 21