by Clee, Adele
“The staff in Portman Street said you’ve been calling at all hours of the day and night. What is that if not an obsessive need to exert control?”
After throwing Finlay a wary glance, the lord said, “You’ve been missing from home, Sophia. The servants hadn’t a clue where you were, when you would return, or who the devil you were with.”
“And so you decided to play enquiry agent and roam the countryside looking for me.”
The strained notes from the musicians warming their instruments cut through the crowd’s chatter.
“I’ll ask once more.” Finlay’s patience dangled by a thread. “What the hell were you doing on that road?”
The lord’s bottom lip quivered. “S-Since returning from Brighton, I’ve not left t-town.”
He was lying. And the people in the opposite box had taken to whispering and pointing.
Without warning, Finlay grabbed the lord by his embroidered waistcoat and pulled him to his feet. He turned to Sophia. “Check the corridor. Everyone should be in their boxes.”
Adair tried to struggle free. “Release me. This is insane.”
Sophia hurried to the door, eased it open and peered outside. “There’s no one out here but Mr Harrington and Mr Jameson.”
“Harrington! Help!” Another burst of music smothered Lord Adair’s mewling cry.
“Good,” Finlay said, ignoring the fop’s plea. “If recollection serves, there’s a storeroom opposite. See if it’s open.”
Sophia went to check.
Lord Adair whined like the pipes of an old church organ. “How many times must I say it? I’ve not left town.” He grabbed Finlay’s hand but lacked the strength to loosen his grip. “You’ll ruin my damn waistcoat. This is an original Barbier I had made in Paris.”
“Yes, the door is open,” Sophia called.
Finlay dragged the lord from the box. He glared at Harrington. “Wait in my box until I return your friend to your capable care. Providing he tells me what I want to know, of course. Which one of you will act as second if he calls me out?”
Harrington and Jameson exchanged wide-eyed glances and shook their heads. Then the rats scurried into the box as if a cat clawed at their tails.
The storeroom was akin to a scullery maid’s broom cupboard only three times the size. It was home to dustpans and brushes, an assortment of glasses, pewter mugs and platters and an old wooden cellarette.
“Close the door, Sophia.”
She did as he asked, plunging them into darkness.
Lord Adair whimpered.
“Two nights ago, I saw you on the road near Windlesham,” Finlay said in a tone sharp enough to cut a man in two. “Do not take me for a fool. I watched you climb down from your conveyance.”
As Finlay’s eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light, doubts surfaced. Adair and Archer had the same weak chin, the same look of cherubic innocence. Was he mistaken? Was it Archer he had seen at Blackborne?
Frustration made him grab Adair by the throat and push him back against a shelf of creamware bourdaloues. “I watched you approach the house and rattle the damn gates.”
Adair thumped Finlay’s hand and gasped for breath.
“You were there.” Finlay eased his grip. “Confess.”
“Yes!” came the lord’s croaky reply. “Yes, I stopped at the gates … though … though I didn’t know you owned the house. They said Sophia lived there.”
They said!
Sophia’s shocked gasp conveyed Finlay’s rising panic. Panic eased by a rush of relief upon hearing the admission. Still, one word chilled him to the bone.
“They? Someone told you Sophia owned Blackborne?”
“Who?” Sophia’s voice quavered. “Who told you? Who?” Tension radiated from every fibre of her being, the fraught energy sucking the breathable air. “Who said I live—”
“I own the house,” Finlay interjected. Adair would think twice before returning if he thought Finlay was the master of Blackborne. “Who told you she lives there? Who implied we are lovers?”
His last comment conjured a mental image. The eerie bedchamber in Blackborne now a dark, sensual place where a couple might satisfy every base desire.
“I—I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before.”
Finlay shrugged. “Then I’ll choke the answer from your lying lips.” He applied a little pressure to the lord’s Adam’s apple.
“Ow! Wait! I’ll tell you,” he cried amid the din of raucous laughter coming from the auditorium. “I—” He paused.
Finlay released the fellow and stepped back. “Well, we’re waiting.”
“You won’t believe me, but I swear it’s the truth.” The lord straightened his cravat. “I was in a coffeehouse and overheard a conversation between two people in the adjacent booth.”
Suspicion flared. “A coffeehouse? Where?”
“Mulligans, in Bedford Street. I was waiting for Harrington.”
“What a remarkable coincidence,” Finlay mocked.
Sophia edged closer. “And what did they say?” She touched Finlay’s arm as if contact brought reassurance.
“They were mumbling, but the gentleman said that you were living at Blackborne permanently. He said it complicated matters.”
“Describe him,” Finlay snapped. He would stake his life it was Dr Goodwin.
“Wavy brown hair, patrician nose, thirty or so. Not the fashionable sort.”
Stone the crows!
It was the blasted doctor. So much for his stories of being inundated with patients in Godstow. Clearly, he had time to venture to London and gossip in a coffeehouse.
“When was this?” Sophia asked, sounding somewhat puzzled.
“I’d not long returned to town, so a week ago.”
“And who was his companion?”
The lord gave a nonchalant shrug. “A woman. Though I can assure you we do not mingle in the same circles.”
“I need a description,” Finlay demanded.
Adair sighed. “Petite. Blonde. An appalling sense of dress. That’s all I can tell you.” Adair looked at the closed door. “Can I leave now? I’m missing the performance. I’ve been waiting weeks to—”
“And you can bloody well wait a few more minutes,” Finlay said, clenching his jaw. “I want more information. They must have said something else, something to make you journey out of town to hunt for your stepmother.”
Adair shifted uncomfortably. “The fellow explained that Lady Adair had spoken about hiring an enquiry agent, that she was convinced something was amiss. The woman seemed confident Sophia would grow tired of Blackborne and return to town.”
“And what the hell has that to do with you?” Finlay shouted above the shrieks of laughter emanating from the adjacent boxes.
“I thought she—” Adair’s features contorted with embarrassment. “Damn and blast. I thought she’d heard I needed her out of the house in Portman Street so I could sell it to settle my debts.”
Finlay wasn’t shocked by the revelation. Men like Lord Adair, men with a need to prove themselves superior, often lived beyond their means.
“I knew she’d deceived my father out of funds,” the lord continued, his face twisted with hatred. “When I heard she owned a house in Windlesham, a house that wasn’t mentioned in the will, I thought to reveal her duplicity.”
“And you thought to blackmail me into giving up my right to live in Portman Street,” Sophia added. “To threaten me into submission. Your father would be ashamed.”
Anger sparked in the lord’s insipid eyes. “I need the damn money.”
“Had you approached me and explained your problem, I might have vacated the property.” Sophia raised her chin in an act of defiance. “Now, I find I’m rather fond of the house in Portman Street and cannot bear to leave.”
The pompous lord gritted his teeth. “Why, you dratted witch.” He shot forward. “I should—”
Finlay pushed the lord back against the shelf. “Did I not warn you about your disrespectful ton
e? Do not leave town. I may have more questions and would hate to have to hunt you down.”
“And I would hate to gossip about your lack of funds,” Sophia added, “but sometimes I cannot help myself.”
Adair glared but kept his lips pursed.
Finlay yanked open the door, the light in the corridor causing momentary blindness. “Leave. And get your foppish friends out of my box.”
The lord scurried past them in his shiny buckled shoes, his face as pale as his white stockings.
An unladylike growl left Sophia’s lips. “That devil needs horsewhipping.” She slammed the door closed, immersing them in darkness. “Oh! I forgot we were in the broom cupboard.”
Suddenly, it didn’t seem like a room for plates and brooms, but a private place where a couple might indulge their desires. A place for a passionate encounter. A place where a man might forget anything existed beyond these walls.
While Finlay’s eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, his other senses sharpened. The alluring scent of violets teased his nostrils. But it was the natural scent of this woman that hardened his cock. She exhaled, the seductive sigh sending blood surging to his loins.
“I can’t seem to find the door handle,” she said, groping the air and then his arm.
Desire trickled through him like the finest claret—warm, intoxicating. He needed to delve into her mouth, part her soft thighs, feel her inner muscles hugging his cock so tightly he’d never feel alone again.
Throwing caution to the wind, he reached for the handle and turned the key in the lock. “Perhaps we should wait in here a while. Calm our tempers, lest we do something wild and reckless.”
The hitch in her breath said she had heard his veiled plea. “Recklessness is in the air, I fear. At times like these, one might speak with abandon. One might have an urge to live in the moment. Take risks.”
“Take what they desperately crave.”
“Yes,” she said. “To satisfy a curiosity.”
“Hmm. Then I’m curious to know if you feel as good as I imagine. I need you, Sophia. If only for tonight.” It would have to be enough. He could no longer ignore the hunger, no longer fight these forceful impulses. “I cannot leave this world, cannot leave this room without knowing your body. What harm can it do?” he said, echoing her reasoning.
Sophia closed the gap between them and came up on her tiptoes. She leant closer, squashing her breasts against his chest, feathering her lips lightly across his. “No harm at all.”
Chapter 11
During those moments when she fantasised about making love to Finlay Cole—and there were many—a cupboard in the English Opera House was not her preferred location. A giant bed with views over an exotic landscape was one such indulgence. A place too hot for clothes. A meadow of wildflowers or a luxurious bath filled with aromatic oils set a seductive scene.
And yet never had she felt a desire so compelling she could barely catch her breath. Never had her sex ached so intensely.
This would not be a slow, sensual joining of bodies and souls. He would not strip off his clothes so she might feel every carved contour, devour every inch of his bronzed skin. They would not explore those wicked positions she’d seen in erotic books. It would be quick, hard, wild—and she didn’t give a damn.
“You want to make love here, Finlay?” She ran her hands over his chest. Oh, touching him brought immeasurable pleasure.
“Need outweighs rationale.” The husky tone of his voice said he was unlikely to change his mind. “I’ve thought of little else all night. I know it’s not ideal. I know it’s reckless.”
“Finlay, I thought I’d never know your touch. I thought I’d spend my entire life wishing, wanting.” Starved. “I don’t care where we are as long as I feel close to you.”
He slipped his arm around her waist. His musky scent surrounded her, seeping through her skin to soothe, to tease, to tantalise. Her sex throbbed. Burned. Was it possible to reach one’s climax through anticipation alone?
He glanced around the dark room. “Perhaps I ask too much.”
He could ask for her heart, and she would rip it from her chest and place it into his outstretched hands.
“You think too much.” And so it was best to distract his mind and tend to the needs of his body. “Let me soothe away your doubts.”
She reached down between their bodies and stroked his solid manhood.
A pleasurable hum resonated in his throat before his mouth came crashing down on hers. They had passed the point of gentle nips and the chaste melding of mouths. They were too ravenous, too desperate, too needy. They had waited too long to show any restraint.
With wild abandon, Finlay thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. Tasting. Exploring.
That’s it, my love, don’t fight it, she whispered silently.
She met him with equal urgency, cupping his neck and tugging his hair as their tongues tangled together. Everything around her evaporated until there was nothing but their hot writhing bodies, nothing but their breathless pants filling the air.
His hands were everywhere, whipping her into a vortex of desire. He stroked her back, massaged her buttocks. Clothes were a hindrance, but knowing she couldn’t strip him naked heightened her arousal.
He dragged his mouth away and gasped a breath. “God, Sophia, everything about you is divine. Everything about you is as I remember. Help to banish the demons in my head. Help to heal my heart.”
It took a strong man to admit his weaknesses.
And Finlay Cole was the most powerful, most virile man she had ever known.
“Kiss me, Finlay. Kiss me here.” She touched the sensitive spot below her ear. “Just like you used to.”
The man she would have for her husband, the man she would love until she drew her last breath, pressed his hot lips to the pounding pulse in her neck.
Oh, lord!
She shuddered.
“Here,” she breathed, stroking her collarbone.
He dipped his head, rained kisses down to the valley of her breasts. Feasted on every inch of exposed flesh. “Were we anywhere else, I’d have you out of this gown. I’d fill my hands with your breasts, take each dusky pink nipple into my mouth and suck hard.”
“Then I pray at some point, somewhere more private, the inclination comes over you again.” This would be the first time they made love, but she hoped to heaven it wouldn’t be the last. “Hurry now.” The need to have him inside her made her bold. “Take me before someone finds us in here.”
Take me before you have a change of heart.
She stripped off her glove, trailed her hand down his chest to the placket of his breeches. He watched her intently as she fiddled with the buttons, as she delved inside and wrapped her fingers around his throbbing erection.
Finlay hissed between clenched teeth.
He was so hard, so thick, so strong. She would take him in her mouth, feel the immense power of him with every plunge. If only they had more time.
She slid her hand back and forth over steel encased in silk. She had touched him like this once before, on the day of the picnic. But someone had called their names, and they’d hurried from the woods laughing, lust still thrumming in their veins.
Finlay closed his eyes, desire softening his features. Oh, she’d never thought to see him like this again, thought nothing would bring him pleasure.
“Take me from behind,” she whispered. It would be easier when fully clothed. “Be quick.”
He opened his eyes slowly, the hunger she’d lived and breathed for seven years swimming in those unfathomable dark pools. “Next time, I’ll make it better for you.”
Next time!
The words were more potent than any aphrodisiac. Sophia grabbed Finlay’s cravat and dragged his mouth to hers while still stroking his manhood. The kiss was raw, savage, carnal. One minute they were moaning into each other’s mouths, the next, her palms were pressed against the wall as Finlay bunched her skirts to her waist and pushed his erection between her ba
re buttocks.
He entered her body—Oh, God, yes!—his muttered curse of appreciation finding her in the darkness. She thought she’d died, left this world and entered paradise. Such was the outpouring of love. Finlay pushed deeper, his pleasurable groans more beautiful than a choir of angels. Her body hummed the same tune. All her troubles and fears faded into insignificance as she stretched to accommodate him.
One last push and he was buried to the hilt.
This was how it was meant to be.
Them.
In lust. In love.
He gripped her hips and held her impaled. In that perfect moment, it was as if the world had found its centre, its natural balance. Every pain and hardship melted away to make room for a new beginning, a beautiful beginning.
Tears sprang to her eyes. Tears of happiness. Tears of joy.
And then he moved, withdrawing slowly and filling her full, sliding in, out, in again. Driving deep. Staking his claim.
“Oh, Finlay!” She pushed back against him, over and over, the audible slapping an applause to fate.
“God, Sophia. You’re so wet I might lose my mind.”
“Hurry.”
Don’t hurry!
“Harder,” she rasped, needing to feel sore and bruised, needing to remember the feel of him long after they had left this dark room.
He obliged, pounding into her body until their breathless pants rent the air. The creamware rattled on the shelf. The pewter plates clattered, joining the symphony.
“Is this what you want?” he said, his tone low and husky.
“I want you, Finlay.”
It’s all I’ve ever wanted—just you.
Her reply spurred him to drive deeper. Through ground teeth, he growled, “Then have all of me, love. Take every thick inch.”
The force tore a whimper from her throat, but still, she cried, “Harder.”
“I need to withdraw, Sophia.”
No!
It was too soon. Sophia didn’t care that she hadn’t found her release, but she did not wish to be parted, did not wish to be consumed by the same dreaded emptiness.
“There’s no need. I’m barren,” she said, desperate to have some part of him left inside her.