“You were not when you first saw me, a wreck of a man. I thank you for dragging me from that, if nothing else.”
Her hands were in his before she realized she’d reached for them.
“I was as much of a wreck,” she said. “Hiding from the world.”
“Hiding with you was the best time of my life,” David said fervently. “Far, far better than being in the world without you.”
Sophie squeezed his hands. “I agree.”
Music swelled behind them, reminding Sophie that they stood in Eleanor’s ballroom, and that she was there to be reintroduced to society. She half-turned, ready to suggest they join the throng, when David pulled her back.
“Come with me,” he said in a low voice.
Sophie felt no qualm about abandoning the ball to follow David. He led her around a screen that concealed a door to a narrow corridor—a passage for servants. David took her through this then up two flights of deserted backstairs before he opened another door into an upper hall.
Sophie’s bedchamber lay nearby, but David towed her to a part of the house she hadn’t visited and to a well-furnished bedchamber. The bedroom did not have the sumptuousness of the chamber Sophie occupied, but it was cozy, with a four-poster bed and well-cushioned chairs, a deep rug, and a crackling fire.
“Whose room is this?” Sophie asked in surprise. “And should we be invading it?”
“It is mine, dear lady. Set aside for me long ago, when Hart and I spent many nights in this house planning to take over the world.” David gazed about in nostalgia. “Fortunately for the world, we did not succeed.”
“They keep the fire lit for you?” Sophie wandered toward it, nervous. “Very considerate, since you are not staying here.”
“I tipped the wink to the majordomo that I might spend the night. He is used to me getting roaring drunk at Hart’s gatherings and having to be carried to bed.”
Sophie made a show of looking him up and down. “You seem relatively sober.”
“I am. Stone-cold. I certainly didn’t want to come to you fluid with whisky. I’ve already done that, and seen you despise me.”
Sophie flushed. “I was very rude.” She remembered David looking up at her at her uncle’s table with his changeable eyes, and her heart constricting. She’d blurted out her tart observations to hide her confusion.
“You were astute,” David said. “I was a drunken sot. Could have saved myself much trouble that night if I hadn’t been. But then, I might not have met you.”
He joined her as she drew near the fire, taking her hands and pulling her close, his warmth competing with that of the flames.
David’s smiles were gone, the lines on his face deepening as he gazed down at her. Firelight touched his dark hair and softened his hard-edged eyes.
Sophie rose on tiptoes to kiss the side of his mouth.
David made a raw noise in his throat. He released her hands to cup her face, drawing her up to him for a fierce kiss. His mouth moved on hers, hot, needing, and Sophie kissed him back with as much hunger.
David pulled away, eyes haunted. “Staying away from you has been hell, but I can’t make myself keep from you any longer. If you want to run from me …” He stepped back, the movement rigid. “I won’t impede you. The door is unlocked, the way open. Go, and save your virtue from the likes of David Fleming.”
Sophie studied him for a long time. David breathed hard, chest rising sharply, a pain in his eyes she felt in her own heart.
She moved from him and crossed the room. She heard David’s sigh of resignation, almost a groan, before she quietly turned the key in the lock.
“Sophie.” He gazed at her in such anguish it stabbed at her, but the hope behind his pain was even more anguished.
Sophie went to him. She closed her hands around the lapels of his coat, pulled him down to her, and kissed him hard on the mouth.
Chapter 17
David’s world changed. Sophie Tierney was in his arms, the scent of her light perfume filling him. Her gown bared her arms and back, her skin smooth under his callused hands.
Her mouth was a place of heat, like light brushing into him and freeing his dark heart. He pulled her closer, his body hard with wanting, drinking in the delight of her.
Her expression as she’d turned from the door had shattered him. She’d locked them in, coming to him willingly, to give him the gift of herself.
Thank all that was holy David had persuaded the majordomo have a fire laid. It warmed them now as they sought each other, the flickering light turning Sophie’s dark hair to glistening silk.
David skimmed his hands down her back, finding the hooks that kept her bodice in place. He eased them apart as he continued the kiss, expecting at any moment she’d pull away from him and flee. Well, he’d left the way to the door clear.
Sophie broke the kiss but she made no move to run. She pushed his coat down his arms with impatience, at the same time her bodice fell in a wash of crumpled silk.
David’s heart sped as he let his coat drop to the floor. Beneath the bodice was Sophie’s corset, a small one to fit under the breath of a bodice.
He loosened the corset with skilled fingers, pulling out the laces with ease. Under that was her combinations, her breasts unfettered beneath.
Sophie unbuttoned David’s waistcoat as he unfastened her skirt. The gown was beautiful—he recognized a masterful touch in its making—but Sophie underneath was even more beautiful.
The warmth of her sparked fire as he shoved the exquisite skirts and petticoats away, lifting Sophie from them when they pooled at her feet. She yanked at the buttons of his shirt, David laughing at her fervor as he closed his arms around her.
She was as soft and pliant as he’d imagined, nothing between them now but her combinations and stockings. David’s shirt opened under her urgent fingers, and he couldn’t stop a groan as her touch landed on his bare skin.
“My love.” He kissed her neck, then traced its curve with his tongue. “Sophie, I have wanted you for so long.”
“Highly improper,” she murmured.
“I think you know me well enough to realize I don’t give a damn.”
Her look was impish. “I meant it is highly improper how much I’ve been wanting you. In my uncle’s vicarage, no less. I wanted to kiss you and touch you …”
“Stop.” David’s need flared high. “You’re going to kill me.”
“I’d never hurt you.” Sophie’s voice went soft. “But I think we both needed some relief.”
“I love that you are wicked.” David tugged her closer. “Never as wicked as me, but I can teach you if you’d like.”
Sophie touched his face. “I would like that.”
“Hell.”
All teasing fell away. David swept Sophie into his arms and carried her to the bed. He made short work of her undergarments, Sophie laughing as she helped him.
One thing he liked about a kilt—he could unbelt it and unwind it quickly, no stumbling over clumsy trousers. The swaths of plaid came open, loosening and falling away.
He spread the plaid on the bed, surrounding Sophie with his Scottish ancestry, and slid off the drawers he wore beneath—no traditional bareness for David.
He took a moment to study her—full breasts, waist nipped in a little from corsets, lush hips, lovely legs that had always been hidden by skirts. He’d glimpsed those legs from time to time as they’d scrambled around Dr. Pierson’s excavation, brief flashes of calf, and once a very enticing hint of thigh when he’d helped her out of the hole where the mosaic lay. Enough to make him hot and breathless and deprive him of sleep for days.
Now she was here, in his bed. David hadn’t used this room in years—it was fitting he re-enter this house and chamber as a new man with Sophie.
He was on the bed beside her in the next moment, her body silken under his touch. His shirt still hung from his arms, but he couldn’t be bothered to shrug it off.
“Your uncle ruined my hands,” David said, spreading
one across her belly. In spite of his gloves, his skin had become rough, palms hardened from the work. “Making me dig like a garden laborer.”
Sophie caught his hand and kissed it. “I think it’s perfect.”
“The kindness of you.” David brushed her lips with his fingertips.
“You make me want to be kind.”
“Hmm, I am not certain that’s a compliment. You make me want to be very, very bad.”
Her smile undid him. “I think I shouldn’t mind.”
Sophie’s answer, coupled with the heat in her eyes, sent David’s thoughts to wicked places. He cupped her breast, loving its weight against his palm, then ran his hand down to the join of her legs.
She was ready for him, liquid heat. David slid over her, kissing her as he positioned himself.
She welcomed him in. David closed his eyes, becoming complete for the first time in his life as he slid inside her. Sophie surrounded him, held him, and David knew the fire of pleasure and love.
* * *
Sophie wanted to cry out as David thrust deep inside her. This was new, an awareness, a longing, a need she’d never experienced.
This was not her first time with a man, yet she felt raw, eager, passionate. David slid into her, hard, but there was no hurting—her body wanted him. This was her David, the man as gentle as he was sinful. He touched her, kissed her, and smiled at her, before he closed his eyes and groaned.
Sophie’s answering groan mingled with his. He took such care of her, though he didn’t hold back, his thrusts powerful. She knew she was truly with him as he loved her, and was in a place he wanted to be. David brushed her hair back with a hard hand, kissed her lips, stroked her skin, looked into her eyes without worry.
“My beautiful lady.” His words were filled with quiet desire. “If I’d known how this would feel, I never could have stayed away from you.”
Sophie wanted to answer with witty words, to tell him what he meant to her. She could only touch him, whisper his name.
David didn’t seem to mind. He sped his thrusts, each one fire. Sophie clutched at him, the shirt that enticingly bared his shoulders coming off in her frenzy. The folds landed on the plaid, the fine lawn and wool cradling them both.
David’s skin was smooth over hard muscle. She felt his heart swiftly beating, his breath on her skin, his kisses. Most of all she felt him inside her, opening her, spreading her, remaking her.
Wildness swept her body, and she heard her voice ringing through the firelight. Wordless cries sprang from her throat, a dark, hot ferocity closing her in a crushing grip.
David awakened her, freed her. She met him thrust for thrust, his voice rumbling as he groaned her name, the sound like velvet.
I love you! Sophie shouted silently. She might have said it out loud—she wasn’t certain.
The wildness took her far away on a whirlwind of sensation, then receded, very, very slowly.
After a long time, the world stopped spinning, and she realized she lay on a soft bed, safe in David’s arms. He kissed her lips, her face, nipping, whispering, loving.
“My Sophie.” He licked the shell of her ear. “My love. My lady.”
Sophie could only cup his face, kiss his mouth, and love him.
* * *
Sophie woke to dawn light. It trickled through the window to halo David next to her in a tangle of sheets and plaid. He must have covered them in the night while Sophie lay insensible from the third time he’d taken her.
Laurie had never brought her to life as David had, never lifted her to the place of unrestrained frenzy. She blushed to think of the things she’d said and done with David in the night.
His cock rested heavily against her thigh, hard with arousal. He must be having a nice dream.
As though he felt her gaze, David opened his eyes. He smiled, relief on his face. “Love. There you are.”
“I’d hardly run through the house in my altogether.” Sophie skimmed her fingers along his arm, enjoying the strength of him. “And anyway, I was asleep.”
David regarded her quietly with his gray-blue eyes. “I feared this would prove to be a dream.”
“On the contrary, I think your dreams were quite randy.” Sophie let her hand drift to his hardness, and David’s smile turned sinful.
“Oh, they were. Would you like me to tell you about them?”
“Will you think me very wicked if I say yes?”
“I will think you wonderful.”
“Then yes.” Sophie squeezed, and David let out a groan.
“I believe I will show you instead.” David growled as he rolled her down into the bed, parting her legs and sliding into her once more.
Sophie laughed and happily succumbed.
* * *
When she woke the next time, more hours had passed, and David was gone.
Sophie sat up quickly. She flushed with embarrassment when she saw that a dressing gown had been left for her, along with one of her own shirtwaists and skirt, stockings and sensible shoes, easy things to put on herself. Eleanor must have brought them.
The plaid still lay across the bed, and Sophie spent a moment hugging it to herself, reveling in the sensation of the wool on her skin, the warmth it held of David.
Once she persuaded herself to leave the bed, she dressed hastily, hoping David would return and offer to button her, escort her downstairs, or even simply say good morning. He never appeared.
Sophie’s hair was a mess, but she managed to untangle it with a hairbrush that had magically appeared, and pull it into a simple plait. Eleanor had thoughtfully supplied a ribbon and some pins so Sophie could at least wind the braid into a knot and secure it in place.
She wondered if Eleanor sometimes had to dress herself quickly after a night of debauchery, and so knew exactly what Sophie would need. The way the duke and duchess regarded each other when they thought no one watched told her this was the case.
Eleanor sent Sophie a broad smile when she entered the breakfast room. Hart was there, engrossed in a newspaper. His two sons ate with robust appetites and only a modicum of arguing—they were far too busy shoveling in food for brotherly conversation.
Hart gave Sophie a welcoming nod, as he did every morning, then returned to his paper. The boys shouted their greetings, and young Alec rose to hold a chair for her.
Ian and Beth Mackenzie had spent the night, and were at the breakfast table, Ian reading alongside Hart. Beth’s greeting shared Eleanor’s knowing smile, to Sophie’s discomfiture. Ian continued reading without glancing up, but Sophie knew he was in no way trying to be rude.
Of David, there was no sign.
“Mr. Fleming raced away to Shropshire this morning,” Eleanor said, placidly buttering her bread. “Your uncle sent him a telegram.”
“Oh.” Sophie accepted the coffee a footman poured her, and young Malcolm brought her toast. “Thank you,” she said to them both.
“Dr. Pierson sent you a telegram as well.” Eleanor pulled a small envelope from her pocket. “Well, it was the same telegram, as your uncle no doubt wanted to save the expense of sending two identical ones. He seems to believe he’d find the two of you in one place.”
Sophie’s face went hot, and Eleanor’s eyes glinted with good humor as she handed over the paper.
Sophie opened it and scanned its contents. Uncle Lucas had indeed been economical: Amazing developments. You must come. L.P.
Her agitation grew—Uncle did not dispense telegraph messages without cause. “I must go, then,” she said, half rising.
“After breakfast,” Eleanor advised. “David has already gone to calm him. There’s a train at ten.”
“David—I mean, Mr. Fleming—could not wait until ten?” Sophie resumed her seat and carefully spread butter across her toast, moving the knife to all corners.
“Hadn’t you better call him David now?” Eleanor asked with her unnerving candor. “He decided to go ahead of you, and I agreed with him. Do not be alarmed. All will be well.”
Beth, next to Eleanor, nodded agreement.
Hart was obviously listening to the conversation—his eyes had become fixed on the page—and now he lowered the newspaper and pinned Sophie with his golden gaze. “David is my closest friend. He needs happiness, no matter how much he pretends to deny it.” His expression softened. “I am grateful to you for giving it to him.”
Sophie set down her toast, untasted. “I’ve done nothing.”
“Don’t rush them, Hart.” Eleanor put her elbows on the table and raised a cup to her lips. “And you call me an impatient matchmaker.”
“Because you are.” Hart sent her a look that heated the air. “A confounded interfering busybody.”
Eleanor put out her tongue at him. “But a successful one.”
Hart gave her another scorching glance, then a pointed one at Sophie before returning to his newspaper. The lads were quiet, watching the adults with interest.
Ian laid down his paper with a quiet rustle and met Sophie’s gaze without a flicker.
“You are good for him,” he said. “There is also a train at half past eight.”
Ian studied her for a moment longer, then gave a nod, as though he’d finished, and went back to his paper.
Beth watched her husband with love in her eyes. “I can help you pack your things,” she offered to Sophie.
Sophie gulped coffee and clattered the cup to its saucer. She had no appetite, and her feet urged her to run, run, run, all the way to Shropshire, where David waited.
She rose, her chair banging. “No need for packing. I have things at Uncle’s. Thank you, Eleanor, for your kind invitation. Could you have a hansom summoned for me?”
All but Ian looked up at her, every face interested.
“Hart’s coach should be at the front door momentarily,” Eleanor said. “I’d anticipated you’d want to go at once, and hansoms can be unsavory. You’d best be off, my dear. Do greet your uncle for me.”
Chapter 18
A Rogue Meets a Scandalous Lady: Mackenzies, Book 11 Page 17