David wandered the abbey ruins, one eye on the path to the vicarage below. The field with the Roman villa lay in the distance, tiny figures moving about the earth there.
He had to admit that Dr. Gaspar had done remarkable work. He and Pierson had uncovered more of the mosaic and then discovered a wall with an intact painting—a trompe l’oiel of a window into a garden.
This had been the “amazing development” that had made Dr. Pierson send an excited message summoning David and Sophie, the two of them at the same time. As though they belonged together.
David had departed at once, for reasons of his own, leaving Sophie to sleep.
Now he wondered if she’d bother coming. Why should she desert Eleanor’s very comfortable house for the mist and rain of Pierson’s fields? She could view Pierson’s discoveries at any time. David would end up climbing back onto a train, chugging to London, and having his tete-a-tete with her in the Grosvenor Square house with the very nosy Mackenzies looking on.
At least Griffin wasn’t at the dig. As David suspected, the overly pampered man would stay home until Pierson and Dr. Gaspar unearthed the entire villa and then swan in and claim the credit. Ah well. Griffin’s funding would let Pierson excavate to his heart’s content and provide a salary to the penniless Gaspar. Best of all, Griff would leave David alone. All thanks to Sophie.
Dr. Pierson appeared far below along the path to the villa, walking briskly. After a moment, a woman rushed to catch up to him with a flurry of skirts, a large hat shielding her from the mists. She fell into step with Pierson—he was taking her to see the mural.
David stilled, his blood flashing cold, then hot.
True, a wall painting from ancient times was rare and important. But to David, at this moment, it didn’t matter at all.
He leaned on a ruined stone wall and watched them. He could rush down and across the mile of field and join them, but David feared if he did so, the spell that had woven around him and Sophie would break.
She’d evaporate, never having existed, or worse, she’d look at him with neutral welcome and be far more interested in seeing her uncle’s wall than David. Or she’d be ashamed of how beautiful and uninhibited she’d been in his bed.
The memory flared of her rising to his touch, her hot kisses on his flesh—and David’s body responded. Most inconvenient while he stood on a cold hilltop, the bones of an ancient scriptorium for company.
Sophie’s steps were animated on the path below, her excitement about Pierson’s find evident. They disappeared behind trees for a long moment, then emerged even farther away, Gaspar coming to greet them.
David burned as Gaspar took Sophie’s hand. He balled his hands on the stone wall, ready to dash down and rip Gaspar away from her, but he stopped himself. He’d look like a fool, and Sophie would disdain him.
She was here. That was all that mattered.
Sophie spoke with the archaeologists for a long time, vanishing toward the villa with Pierson and emerging ten minutes later. Dr. Gaspar hovered next to her, but Sophie turned from him and embraced her uncle. Congratulating Pierson, happy for him.
They stepped apart, Sophie tilting her head to look up at Pierson, her body conveying inquiry. Dr. Pierson glanced about as though searching for something, then he turned and pointed at the abbey on the hill.
David froze. Sophie couldn’t possibly see him hiding up here, but he felt her gaze as she peered at the ruins.
She settled her hat, waved at the gentlemen, and began her ascent toward the abbey.
David’s body went ice cold. Dratted wind.
He rushed about, kicking aside pebbles and dusting off the top of the wall on which he’d leaned, as though tidying his house for a visitor. Ridiculous. He made himself cease and leaned on a stone pillar, as though he’d come here to do nothing more than a little birdwatching.
Even so, his heart raced as she walked up the hill, taking her time. It was a steep climb, after all, but David could wait no longer.
He gave up his pose and jogged down to meet her, escorting her the last yards. When they reached level ground at the top of the hill, Sophie did not remove her hand from the crook of his arm, her gloved fingers warm.
“The wall they’ve found is lovely,” she said with enthusiasm. “Colors quite beautiful.”
“Indeed worthy of the command that dragged me from London at an ungodly hour,” David said, pleased he could speak with his usual sarcasm. “Oh, forgot. No hour is ungodly. Just dark, cold, and disagreeable.”
Sophie smiled at his feeble wit. “You did not have to rush off, you know. We could have traveled together.”
“I wanted to ask your uncle a few questions. And if I’d been alone with you in a train carriage …” David glanced down and found her green eyes on him—the eyes that had filled with passion last night in the firelight.
He thought of the many things they could have done in a train carriage, in spite of the cramped space. It involved Sophie’s legs around him as she faced him on his lap, or she on her knees on the seat …
David gulped a lungful of cold wind and forced the images away. He’d never be able to speak, let alone stand up, if he continued with his fantasies.
“What did you wish to ask Uncle Lucas about?” Sophie’s look was innocent—she couldn’t read his mind, thank heaven.
“Oh … one or two things. One was whether he’d decided to stay in Shropshire and bury himself in his Roman villa or rush to foreign parts.”
“What did he answer?”
David shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “He says he is not certain. The villa is proving more complex than he realized. So he is remaining here for now. Which suits me.”
“Are you going to stay and help him?”
Her question was so hopeful that David wanted to kiss her. “Possibly. It would do me good, rusticating in the country and letting Town life go hang. Though I do want to make improvements to my own house—I can be a social recluse there instead. And … well, Gaspar rubs me the wrong way. I’m not sure how long I can stick him.”
“He’s a bit shy, is all.” Sophie flashed a sudden smile. “He asked me to marry him.”
David went still, his heart beating thickly as pain shot through his body. Gaspar was exactly the sort of man Sophie should marry—respectable, learned, unworldly. She would rush to him, leaving David in her dust.
He drew a hoarse breath. “Did he?”
She nodded, serene. “He knew about my predicament with Laurie, and he offered to save me from ruin. I turned him down, of course. But it was kind of him.”
“Kind?” David’s lips were so stiff, the word barely formed, but the rest of his body flooded with relief. She’d said no. “It wasn’t kindness, my dear. He wanted you.” He gazed down at the path to the ruins, a growl in his throat. “Probably still does.”
Sophie looked perplexed. “Dr. Gaspar? He never said such a thing. Nor would he.”
“Any man looking at you wants you. In his bed.” David scowled. “Trust me.”
How could they not? With her wide smile that made him hot all over, those beautiful green eyes that assessed him with intelligence she didn’t bother to hide—how could any man resist her?
“I very much doubt that,” she said with a faint laugh.
“I assure you, my dear, it is true.”
Sophie slanted David a glance that immediately made him hard. “You mean that whenever I walk into a gathering—a soiree perhaps, or a discussion on the latest improving novel—every gentleman there looks at me and thinks of bed? That is absolute nonsense, unless his thoughts are only on sleep.”
David didn’t laugh. “I know what goes on in the heads of the male sex, and they would think this.” He reached to touch her cheek. “How could they help it?”
Sophie dimpled under his fingertips. “All of them? Even Mr. Gladstone?”
David drew a breath to answer, then dropped his hand. “Perhaps not. He is a bit prim. Or, he would think it, but never let on.”
Amusement sparkled in her eyes. “You are absurd, as is this conversation.”
“No, I am a man in love.” David let the naked truth come. “When I think of life without you, Sophie, I feel … empty.”
Sophie’s laughter vanished, pain behind her eyes. “But you have so much,” she said softly. “So many who love you—Uncle Lucas, Eleanor, Hart and his family. Dear friends who will do anything for you.”
“I know. Ungrateful wretch that I am.” David removed his hat and dropped it to the ground, not caring that it rolled immediately to a corner of the wall and into a puddle. “But without you, Sophie …” He shook his head, wind ruffling his hair. “My life was different before I knew you. I didn’t realize it was empty, even when vast caverns opened before me. I filled the holes with debauchery and bad people and pretended all was well.” He gazed at her limply. “But now I know you are in the world, it has become a better place. At least the parts with you in them.”
Sophie’s voice went soft. “You always flatter me.”
“No, I don’t.” David touched her cheek, drawing fire from her smooth skin. “It isn’t flattery, Sophie. I want you to stay with me forever, but I have no business wanting that. I’m a wreck of a man, and you were already bound to an evil idiot.” He made himself lift his touch away, to not clutch at her, fall on his knees, and beg her to stay. He’d weep and grovel—anything if she would never go. “I found a way to annul your marriage so you’d be free. And you are. As you were meant to be.”
“I am free because of you,” Sophie gazed at him with too much gratitude. “I can return to my family and live my life without shame, because of you. Or follow Uncle through the wilderness digging up bits of it if I like.”
David gave her a half laugh. “When Pierson drags you out of bed at four in the morning to sift earth under the broiling sun, I imagine you’ll curse me.”
“Or the mud of England. You said he has not yet fixed on the Near East.”
“Don’t give me hope.” David glanced away from her, resting his gaze on the stones that had sheltered men of God so long ago, when they thought their enclosed world would last forever. “Or maybe I do want hope. Saying good-bye to you … It is nothing I can do, so I won’t.”
“David …”
“And don’t say you’ll stay with me out of pity. I couldn’t bear—” He broke off, swallowing. “No, I am a liar. I could bear your pity without much struggle at all. Because you’d be with me.”
Sophie gave him a bleak look that seared his heart. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I don’t imagine you did. You don’t have it in you.”
David glanced away again, drawing strength from the soaring ruins, then turned swiftly to her and seized her hand.
“My dear, I will tell you directly instead of dancing around it: I want you. In my life, by my side, in all ways. I’m what you always call me—a blackguard—for wanting it. Lackwit Laurie made your life hell. Why should you bind yourself to another man after that?” David forced his self-deprecating smile. “But if you do not want to entangle yourself legally, which I can understand, we could always live in delicious sin. Do as we please, go where we please. You’d always be free to leave me at any time, no questions, no recriminations.”
Sophie gazed at him in astonishment. “Could you hold yourself to that—no questions or recriminations?”
“Oh, yes.” David nodded fervently. Sophie could do whatever she liked with him, whether wife or mistress. “Though you might have a good many of both.”
A smile pulled at her lips. “You’d ruin me in truth.”
“Not ruined. Celebrated. We wouldn’t live among stuffy Englishmen who condemn anything enjoyable while guiltily committing the same sins in secret. We’d travel the world, be welcomed by princes and kings—they have terrible manners but excellent wine.”
Sophie laughed, her green eyes so beautiful. “You are ridiculous.”
“I am. I can’t help myself. I always will be.” David drew another breath. “But I want to be ridiculous with you at my side. As my mistress, as my wife—which one will make no difference to me.” He caught her other hand and pulled her closer. “I want to share my life with you, Sophie Tierney. On whatever terms you wish.”
Sophie flushed, her uncertainty breaking his heart. “The carefree bachelor will throw away his freedom?”
“It isn’t freedom, dear lady. It is loneliness. I watched the young Hart Mackenzie pretend to be wild and free—his original plan for life was to marry a woman, set her up in a house, and leave her there while he did what he pleased. Then he met Eleanor, and she changed everything. I learned from Hart and El what it means to share a life, and that is what I want. To share my life, as wretched as it is, with you.”
Sophie’s lips had parted, and now they trembled, but she remained silent. Trying to decide how to turn him down gently? It couldn’t be done.
David’s words became edged with despair. “I’ll understand if you’d prefer to run far way, to dig up the world with Pierson and forget about the hell your life has been. I will not blame you.” He made himself release her hands, to take a step back from her, to let her go. “I will only miss you. And love you.”
When Sophie said nothing, David’s pain gripped him. He pressed his hands together to try to summon the serenity of this place, but it eluded him. Perhaps he could be like the monks, withdrawing from the world to do nothing but tend his garden and carefully inscribe words in books.
Sophie was so beautiful in the sunlight, the green of her hat’s ribbon bringing out her eyes. He wanted to look upon her every day, drink her in, to let her save his life by simply being in her presence.
But he wouldn’t trap her. Her ass of a husband had done so, and David would never crush her like that.
“I’ll go,” he forced himself to say. “Don’t worry, my love. I won’t follow you about like a lovesick swain writing you terrible poetry or showering you with bouquets of meaningful flowers. My friends would sit on my head and stop me even if I tried.”
A sob escaped Sophie’s throat. She stepped to him and caught the lapels of his coat.
“Idiot.” Her voice was choked. “I don’t want you to go, or to send me terrible poetry or bushels of flowers. I want you. I love you, my dear, dear David.”
And she kissed him.
David started as Sophie’s lips warmed him and her tears dropped, burning, to his skin. In the next instant, he dragged her into his arms, a flood of release washing his heart.
He kissed her as amazement and hope, love and happiness poured through him and made him want to weep.
David broke the kiss and took her face between his hands—her lovely, lovely face whose mouth had just spoken those beautiful words.
“Love?” he demanded. “Actual love? Damnation, Sophie, don’t tease me. Not about this.”
Her eyes held honesty. “I wouldn’t, I promise. I love you, David. I want to share my life with you. Whether we follow Uncle or live in your house in Hertfordshire or dwell in a hovel in the wilderness, makes no difference. I don’t want to lose you. In all this madness, you were the one thing I could turn to, the one person who kept me steady.”
More astonishment. David held on to her as though saving himself from drowning. “Truly? I must tell my friends. I’ve never been the steady one.”
“Yes, you have.” Sophie laughed, her body quivering delightfully. “You’ve always been there for everyone. It sometimes angers me that your friends don’t appreciate you more. You play the cynical, world-weary gentleman, but behind it, you truly care for people. For Hart and Eleanor—you are glad for them, genuinely so. You are terribly fond of Uncle Lucas, or you’d never have sought his company and helped find his villa. You, my friend, are a compassionate and giving man, whether you like it or not.”
David gave her a look of mock dismay, but he knew she spoke the truth. He’d been happy to help El and Hart find each other, glad to indulge Pierson, and more than pleased to disentangle Sophie from her
bad marriage. He’d always striven to be useful to those he loved.
“A sentimental fool, you mean. Hell, and I thought I concealed that so well.”
“Silly man. You have a large heart, which you choose to hide for some daft reason. But I see it.” Sophie touched his chest, and her voice went quiet. “I love you for it.”
David slid his arms around her. “I hope you love more than just my heart. Or is that too much to ask?”
Sophie’s teasing look, with a touch of wickedness, shot fire through him. “I do think there are other parts of you that I would also like to live with.”
“Oh?” David’s heart hammered. “Do tell.”
“I’d rather show you instead.”
David touched his forehead against hers. “Wicked lass.” He kissed her, leisurely but tasting her fire. “Beautiful lass. Do you know how beautiful?” He brushed his lips over her cheek then behind her ear, following with a nibble of her delectable earlobe. “I love you so. Every inch of you. I believe I will kiss them all now.”
“We are standing on a hill.”
“Yes, well.” David’s mouth moved to her temple, the bridge of her nose. “We will have to remedy that.”
“With my uncle’s vicarage as our only retreat.”
David started to laugh. “God bless your uncle. He is why I flew here so early this morning. I came to ask for his blessing. I confessed all—my love for you and the fact that I wanted to marry you, more than anything else in this life.”
Sophie gave him a puzzled but happy look. “Shouldn’t it be my father you ask for my hand?”
“I’ve never met your father. Besides, your uncle has been like a father to me—my own was too busy being decadent and frivolous to raise a son. Do you know what Pierson said when I asked him?”
Sophie sent him a beautiful smile. “Pray, tell me.”
“He blinked and said, ‘Of course you love Sophie. Do you mean you haven’t asked her yet? Do get on with it, my boy.’ And he marched off to his villa.”
Sophie burst out laughing. “He is the dearest man in the world.”
“He is, but never tell him I said so.” David closed his arms around her, Sophie’s warmth cutting the cool wind. “Is this your answer, Sophie? You will marry me?”
A Rogue Meets a Scandalous Lady: Mackenzies, Book 11 Page 18