by Cara Elliott
“Challenging me to a fight would be a grave mistake,” he murmured as the viscount picked himself up.
“Get hold of yourself, Dudley. Daggett is right—let us use our brains rather than our fists,” snarled Morton. Pursing his lips, he said, “I’ll agree to your demand, Daggett, assuming you can make the question of a brother…go away.” His tone dropped to taut whisper. “I’ve reason to believe that a local spinster by the name of Lawrance knows something about a document that could upset our plans. Her father is half-mad, but she—”
“Forget the Lawrance family,” cut in Cameron. “I happen to know for sure that it’s not with them.”
“I think you’re wrong,” countered Dudley. “Miss Lawrance is hiding something. I feel it in my gut.”
“Maybe you’ve simply eaten a piece of putrid fish,” mocked Cameron. He looked at Morton. “I don’t intend to waste any more of my breath on this.” A sliver of silence. “So make up your mind about who you think is clever enough at clandestine activities to entrust with your future—me or Dudley.”
The twitch of Morton’s throat told him that the bait had been swallowed.
“Very well, Daggett, I agree to your terms. Sit down, and let us negotiate the details…”
The taste of brandy was a little disappointing. Its burn left her mouth feeling scorched, but on the other hand, it did give a pleasant, pooling warmth in her belly. Sophie took a few more small sips, before setting the decanter and glass back in its place.
“Penelope would be in awe—that is, if I dared to tell her,” she said to the brass lanterns.
The red-gold patterns of light shimmied with silent laughter.
“I’ve painted my face, I’ve tippled strong spirits, I’ve lain on a bed of forbidden pleasures…”
A sharp rapping suddenly roused her from her reveries.
“Oh, blast.” It took a moment to untangle herself from the velvet coverlet. Her stocking-clad feet finally found the carpet—she had kicked off her half boots some time ago—and she hurried to the door.
“Damnation.” It was Cameron, his voice sounding taut as a bowstring. “Open the door.”
Sophie fumbled with the latches, finally releasing the lock.
He cracked the door just wide enough to slip inside and quickly kicked it closed. “Good God, Sophie, why would you risk coming—” His words trailed off as he looked up.
“Good God,” he repeated.
It was only now that she caught a glance of herself in the large cheval glass set by the dressing table. Hair spilling over her shoulders, bodice hanging open, face painted to rival Jezebel…
“Good God,” she echoed.
“What has happened to you?” he demanded. “Have you lost every last whit of sense that you ever possessed?”
YOU are what has happened to me. You have come back and stirred wild longings to life.
“I saw no harm in experimenting a little,” she said defensively. “You kept me waiting forever.”
“Had I known you were here,” he growled, “I would have had Sara order you to leave. This isn’t a damn game, Sophie.”
“I know that. I may look like an utter fool right now, but I haven’t completely lost my wits. There was a very important reason for me to come here,” she replied. “Lord Wolcott is dead. You needed to know that before you delved too deeply into danger.”
The scrim of shadows made it hard to be sure, but his expression seemed to soften.
“You were concerned about my safety?”
“Yes, you big lummox! I couldn’t be sure the news would reach you,” replied Sophie hotly.
“Actually, I learned of it last night,” he said.
She now felt a little ridiculous. “Forgive me for rushing helter-pelter to save your ornery hide,” she muttered.
Cameron took a step into the room. “How did you get here?”
“By mail coach.” She retreated toward the bed, unsure of the strange glitter in his eyes. “And then by hired hackney. I was carefully cloaked and veiled, so don’t you dare accuse me of being a featherbrained female.” A glance in the cheval glass made her add, “Though I look like a hen-witted strumpet.”
His boots slid noiselessly across the carpet. “That is not precisely the description I would use.”
Sophie felt her flesh begin to tingle with heat as Cameron came closer. It must be the brandy that was making her so lightheaded. Or perhaps the potent perfume.
“You—”
Whatever he was about to say was cut off by a jarring thump on the bedchamber door.
Cameron spun around.
The thump came again, followed by a jiggling of the latch. “Damn room is supposed to be unoccupied,” exclaimed a drunken voice. “Sally checked her ledger earlier.”
To her horror, Sophie realized the lock had been left open.
Thump.
In one swift, spinning motion, she was lifted off her feet and shoved against the wall.
“Don’t,” warned Cameron, “breathe a word.” And then covered her mouth with a bruising kiss.
Chapter Sixteen
Thump. The door finally gave way to a hard shoulder butt.
“Ought to oil the hinges,” groused an aggrieved male voice.
A high-pitched titter sounded in answer. “Oh, don’t worry, duckie. We keep all the really important working parts well lubricated here at the Lair.”
“Ha, ha, ha…” The laugh died away. “Er, what’s this? I don’t remember contracting for a ménage à four…er, not that I’m opposed to trying something new, but I imagine it costs a pretty penny extra.”
“No, no, it’s not on the slate,” said the lightskirt, sounding somewhat bemused. “Ye must be the new girl, dearie,” she trilled to the shadows on the wall. “Yer supposed te make sure that Sal assigns ye a chamber, so there ain’t any awkward encounters.”
Keeping his back to the intruders, Cameron waved them away with a wordless snarl.
“See, some gents prefer privacy,” explained the lightskirt. “Ye’ll learn that soon enough.” There was a scuff of steps as she turned her inebriated client around. “Come along, duckie. We’ll find a nice, quiet spot of our own.”
With that the door clicked shut.
Sophie wriggled her lips free of the embrace. “I—I think they’ve gone,” she whispered.
Cameron kept his weight against her for a moment longer, wanting to be sure. One little mistake—one small slip. He had let himself be distracted by devil-dark eyes and Lucifer lips. Next time, it could mean more than an embarrassing encounter. It could mean the difference between life and death.
Fear adding an edge to his movements, he pulled away and hurried to twist the lock’s bolts into place.
“Well, no harm done,” murmured Sophie, sounding far too cheerful for the situation.
“Only by the skin of our teeth,” he replied.
“Mmmm, you have nice teeth, and nice skin,” she murmured. “And I like the way your mouth tastes of smoke and fire. It makes me feel deliciously warm all over.”
Hell and damnation. An unwilling, unwanted heat suddenly pooled in his privy parts.
Cameron touched his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “You’ve been drinking brandy,” he murmured, realizing with a jolt why the sweetness of her spice was a little different.
The low, velvety laugh was a very un-Sophie-like sound. “Just a little,” she admitted. “It’s a little raw, but perhaps it’s an acquired taste.”
“Not by you,” he rasped, trying to quell his rising response. Good God—this new Nymph of Pleasure side of Sophie was a little alarming. Not to speak of arousing.
Steady now, he cautioned himself. Only a beast of the lowest order would be thinking impure thoughts of an Innocent within the walls of a brothel.
But she is no Innocent, thanks to you, jeered an inner demon.
Which was all the more reason to keep a grip on his emotions.
“Come along, Sophie,” he said a little roughly. “I need to get yo
u out of here as quickly as possible.” Two swift strides and he was back at her side. “Where’s your cloak?”
She gave a vague wave at the bed. “I left it over there.”
Averting his eyes from the temptingly plump pillows, he took her hand. “Well. Let. Us. Find. It.” he said through gritted teeth.
“I know, I know.” With a sigh, Sophie slumped against his side. “I look absurd. Me, a Damsel of Desire?” Her lust-red lips pursed. “Ha—and pigs might fly.”
“You don’t look absurd,” growled Cameron. “If you must know it, you look ravishing.”
“I—I do?” Her lashes fluttered. “I rather like the way my eyes appear when they’re all smudgy.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “They are as…seductive as sin.” A loud commotion in the corridor outside the door drew his attention from the intriguingly dark, dappled shadings. Wrenching his head around, he listened for a moment before letting out a low oath. “Damn, we had better wait for a bit before trying to leave.”
Several distinctly off-key male voices were raised in a bawdy song, their efforts encouraged by the titter of female laughter and demands for another chorus. By the sound of it, the performance might go on for a while.
Sophie leaned back against the velvet-draped mattress and looked up at the gently swaying brass lanterns. “It’s really quite pleasant in here.”
“Yes, well, it’s meant to be.”
“And the bed is exceedingly comfortable.” She bounced her bum against its side. “Have you tried it?”
Coming from anyone else but Sophie, the comment would be a flagrant come-hither invitation. She, however, was blithely unaware of what she was saying.
Or was she?
Fanning a hand over the deep “V” of flesh exposed by her unbuttoned bodice, she gave a cat-like stretch. “Aren’t you warm in that coat? Why not take it off?”
“Because,” answered Cameron, trying not to watch the slide of patterned muslin pull taut over her breasts, “we are going to be leaving here in another moment.” He crossed the carpet and took hold of her arm.
“What’s the rush?” she asked, shaking off his grip. “I have been thinking it over, and appearing on my uncle’s doorstep at this late hour might provoke too many unwanted questions. Perhaps we should stay here for the night and then I will go on in the morning.”
God must be punishing me for my many misdeeds.
“Sophie, this isn’t a inn, it’s a bordello.”
Her hands set on his shoulders and slowly slid inward. “Yes, and if truth be told, I find that rather exciting.” A sigh tickled his neck. “I’ve so rarely done anything reckless, anything naughty.”
Cameron drew in a ragged breath as she twined her slim fingers in his hair. His self-control was hanging on by a mere thread. “While I, on the other hand, have spent my life breaking most every rule in Creation.”
“So break another,” whispered Sophie.
He met her gaze and saw longing ripple the blue of her eyes, its hue deepened by some other emotion he couldn’t put a name to.
“Please. I’ll soon be returning to my life as sober, safe Sophie, so I’d like to have a few memories to keep me warm.” A tentative smile. “You did, after all, say that you should make love to me on a real bed, with our bodies bathed in candlelight. I—I doubt we shall ever have a more perfect opportunity than this one.”
The patterned flames, amber-gold from the color of the burnished brass, played across her upturned face in a sensuous, seductive dance.
“Sophie…” A plume of perfume, lush and liquid with desire, tickled his nostrils.
Lucifer, throw me into the fire. The thread unraveled in a swirl of sparks.
“God help me, I should be stronger,” he rasped, touching his lips to her brow. “But I am a selfish, snabbering, weak-willed Hellhound.”
“Mmmm.” Sophie tilted her head back and slowly slid her mouth from the tip of his chin to the swell of his lower lip. “Then it’s a good thing…” Nibble, nibble. “…that I have a fondness for canines.”
“I think I’ve unleashed your inner devil,” murmured Cameron. A flick of his tongue tickled a tiny laugh from her. “Yet another black-as-Hades sin on my soul.”
Dropping her hands to the knot of his cravat, she began loosening the linen. “Let’s not talk of darkness, Cam. I would rather fill this fleeting interlude with naught but shimmering light.”
Dark and Light. He had dwelled so long in the shadows that the temptation was too great to pass up.
“Very well, then, Sunbeam. Let us throw ourselves into the flames.”
Sophie shivered as Cameron teased his tongue along the line of her jaw. Strange, she hadn’t thought of her chin as a particularly sensitive spot, but his touch seemed to make even the most mundane bit of her body feel erotic.
Her fingertips tugged at his cravat, acutely aware of the finespun fabric giving way to the lightly stubbled skin of his throat. Eager to explore his intriguing male textures, she hurriedly unfastened his shirt and slipped her hands inside.
Sleek muscle, coarse curls of hair…
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured. “This time, we’ll not rush things. Rather than drink our pleasure in one great gulp, let us savor each sip, like the finest wine.”
The idea was…intoxicating.
“First of all, I did promise you champagne, didn’t I?”
“Alas, there is only a tiny tipple of brandy on the drinks tray—”
A laugh bubbled up in Cameron’s throat. “Never fear. These pleasure rooms very rarely run dry.” Shucking off his shirt, he moved to a low lacquered cabinet set in the far corner and opened the cinnamon-colored door.
“Ah, excellent.” Turning, he held aloft a wrought silver cooler. The glow from the lanterns showed the slender neck of a dark-green bottle emerging from a twinkling of ice. “Sara serves her French champagne à la russe. Cold as the Siberian tundra.”
A fizzy pop punctuated his words.
Cameron quickly poured the sparkling wine into a pair of rounded crystal glasses and carried them over. Along with the bottle. “When Dom Pérignon, the monk who discovered the secret of making champagne’s bubbles, first tasted his new wine, he supposedly said, ‘I think I am drinking the stars.’ So, let us raise a toast to both the Sun and the Moon.”
She took a long sip, feeling the effervescence dance like daggerpoints along her tongue. The sensation sent shivers skating down her spine.
He edged closer, his bare chest darkening to bronze in the flickering shadows. Licking a tiny shard of ice from his fingers, he slowly refilled his glass and held it up to the light. “The champagne coupe also has an interesting story. It’s said that that the shape was molded from the left breast of Diane de Poiters—though some people claim it was Madame Pompadour, Louis XV’s mistress, or perhaps Marie Antoinette.”
“You appear to be quite an expert on wine.”
A gleam of teeth, a pearly flash of an earring. “I’m an expert on a great many subjects, sweetheart.”
“Women among them?” she asked, emboldened by the wine.
“I have lived a hellfire life, and don’t deny my experiences, Sunbeam. But they were only passing fancies.”
As am I. Repressing a twinge of jealousy, Sophie forced a smile. Time enough for maudlin musings in the future. She would not let such thoughts spoil the magic of this moment.
Cameron spun the stem of the glass between his long, lithe fingers. The tiny bubbles were like liquid sparks within the crystal, whispery explosion of white-gold light.
“My guess is that your left breast has a far more pleasing shape to it—slightly plumper, slightly rounder.”
Her flesh began to tingle as he reached out and undid the remaining buttons of her bodice. “Shall we put my assumption to the test?”
It was wicked, it was wanton…and yet Sophie felt a frisson of excitement as she wiggled out of her dress.
He drank off his wine and set down the glass. “This,” he murmured, “requires a
delicate touch. A corset is cursedly complicated.” The top lacing slipped free. “Rather like a lock.”
A tickle of cool air caressed the valley between her breasts.
“There, you see—when one understands the mechanism, it’s easy to make it release.”
Sophie felt the stays slide away from her ribs. “Very clever,” she quipped, stepping out of the corset.
Cameron kicked it aside. “Oh, I haven’t yet begun to be truly clever. That comes a little later.” He made a little swirling motion with his forefinger. “Now off with your shift.”
Stand naked as a nymph, save for my garters and stockings?
She looked up at the lanterns, wondering if it was just her imagination that was making them start to slowly spin on their chains.
“I can do it for you if you wish. But I’d rather watch you reveal the glorious splendor of your body.”
Glorious? Splendor? The words were like honey against her skin, and somehow the thin cotton seemed to come off of its own accord.
A rush of air escaped his lips. “You are so beautiful, Sunbeam. A pure, perfect picture of gilded goodness.”
A blush stole over her body, hot and prickling in all her private places. “Please, I want to see you naked, too.”
“Fair is fair.” Boots, trousers, drawers, stockings—they all came off in rapidfire order. He turned to face her, stripped to the supremely masculine essence of sleek muscle, corded sinew, curling hair, and…
She couldn’t help but stare.
In the glow of the candle flames, his jutting arousal took on a ruddy, reddish glow as it rose from the thatch of coarse curls.
“And you, Cam, are breathtaking to behold. A dazzling, devil-may-care corsair. A Pirate Prince.” Wild, free. Sailing wherever the Four Winds might blow him.
“I care about some things, sweetheart,” he said in a darkly rumbled tone. “Quite passionately.”
Sophie wanted to ask what, but in the next moment he reversed his wineglass and the cool, smooth rim was cupping her left breast…and all rational thought just bubbled away.
“Ah, yes, just as I thought.” Cameron flashed a devilish grin. “You are far more shapely than any French femme.”