Two Sinful Secrets

by Laurel McKee

  “Don’t encourage him, Sophia,” he said in a low, hard voice. “He is much too romantic, he hasn’t learned how the world works yet.”

  “You think I have encouraged him?” she cried. She tried to twist her arm away but he held on to her. “I have barely even spoken to him.”

  “You’ve smiled at him, danced with him.”

  She had to laugh. This man, the one she thought about far more than she should, was here in her home telling her not to smile at his eager young cub of a brother? “I smile a great deal. Are you saying I should refrain from that? That I should go about being terribly stern in order not to encourage anyone?”

  Dominic’s hand suddenly slid from the wall to her shoulder, where her skin was bared by the black silk of her cap sleeve. His fingertips skimmed over her, the merest, lightest brush. It awoke something hot and alive inside her.

  “I don’t think you realize the terrible power of your smile,” he said roughly. His hand curled around her waist and drew her closer to the hard length of his body. “It’s so bright yet so full of mystery, as if you tease us with secrets we will never know.”

  “I—I have no secrets,” Sophia whispered. She reached out to grasp his shoulders because she was sure she was falling. The room was so dark and so warm, and it seemed to be growing even smaller. Narrowing in and in until there was only her and him. Only his hand on her waist, her touch on his strong shoulders.

  “We both know that’s not true,” Dominic whispered. He leaned closer until his lips brushed her ear. She felt his warm breath against the sensitive skin of her neck, and her eyes slid closed. “I don’t want my brother mixed up in them. He’s much too prone to leaping into trouble when it comes to a pretty woman.”

  “I’ve heard you’re not immune to trouble yourself,” Sophia said. She opened her eyes and found herself staring at the smooth skin of his chest where his shirt fell open. A tiny, crystalline bead of sweat gleamed at the hollow of his throat. As she watched, fascinated, it slid down his skin, and she had the most powerful urge to lean forward and trace it with her tongue, to taste him.

  He seemed to sense her fantasy, because his hand tightened at her waist, and she heard him give a low, hoarse moan. “So you’ve heard gossip about me, have you? Even here in Paris?”

  “Of course. The French are fascinated by beauty, you know. And I remember hearing about your family before I left London so long ago. The St. Claires are of endless interest there,” she murmured. She traced her palm lightly over his shoulder and along the lean line of his back. Under the fine linen of his shirt and the soft wool of his coat, she could feel how hard his body was and the graceful power of him as he shifted under her touch.

  His lips traced the soft, vulnerable spot just below her ear, and Sophia’s fingers clutched at a handful of his shirt. “And you listen to the gossip about me?” he said. “I would have thought you above such things—Lady Sophia.”

  His use of her title startled her, making a tiny touch of ice pierce the heat of her desire, but then he kissed her neck again and the cold skittered away. “Gossip is part of my business,” she said, trying desperately to think clearly again. “I need to know as much as I can about everyone.”

  “Very shrewd of you,” he whispered against her skin. “And what have you learned about me?”

  “How women can’t resist you,” Sophia said. She flattened her hands on his chest and tried to push him away so she could think again. She could definitely see the truth of the gossip about him now. What woman could resist his skillful touch?

  She could not afford to be another of their number. Not if she wanted to get back to her family somehow.

  “That’s not true.” He drew back and looked down at her, his eyes narrowed. “You seem to resist me just fine.”

  Sophia laughed. Resist him? Oh, no. She wanted to resist him; she knew she should. She should just shove him away from her and order him from her home. “Is that why I’m letting you touch me now, because I can resist you? How absurd.”

  Dominic shook his head. He watched her closely, a frown on his sensual lips, as if she were a play script in some foreign language he couldn’t quite decipher. “You won’t let me in. I can’t read your thoughts at all.”

  Did he want in? Sophia was startled by the thought. No man ever wanted to know her thoughts. It was enough to them that she was pretty, that she had once had family connections. That they wanted to sleep with her. It was all anyone ever saw or cared about, even Jack. She just hadn’t seen that in the heady days of their elopement, when she had thought he was different.

  She was sure Dominic was not different, either. He just wanted her to stay away from his brother. Perhaps he was attracted to her himself. That was all. But it was so hard to remember all those difficult lessons when he touched her, looked at her, the way he did now.

  “My thoughts are very boring,” she said.

  His hand slid over the curve of her hip and pulled her even closer. Caught off balance, Sophia went up on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hair fell in silken waves over her hands, and she twined her fingers in them.

  “I don’t believe that at all,” he said, and he sounded angry. Rough. “You are much too fascinating for a man’s sanity.”

  And his mouth closed over hers. Sophia closed her eyes and tumbled down and down into that hot whirlpool of desire with him. He tasted so delicious, of brandy and lemons, and his lips moved over hers in soft caresses, first one corner of her mouth then the other before he moaned and pressed closer.

  His hands were hard on her hips, and his tongue slid inside her as if he was just as hungry for the taste of her as she was of him. But Sophia didn’t care anymore. His rough passion awakened that fire inside her and she felt that wondrous life sweep through her again. She wanted more of him, more of that feeling.

  Her fingers tightened in his hair and he groaned against her mouth. As she twined her tongue with his, she felt his hands close over her bottom and lift her high against the wall. Her skirts fell back and she wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him deeper into the curve of her body.

  Over the years, she had come to think the memory of her kiss with him at the Devil’s Fancy had become more than it really was. A girl’s first real kiss, magnified into something it really wasn’t. But she saw now that the wild, passionate need had been real. And now that she was a woman with a woman’s needs, it burned even hotter.

  As she lost herself in his kiss, her mind was flooded with wild images. Dominic entwined with her on her bed, his mouth on her breast, her legs wrapped around him as the sheets tangled over their bodies. His hand in her hair as he stared down into her eyes and thrust inside her.

  “Sophia,” he whispered against her lips, and the dreams and reality merged. His mouth traced the line of her jaw, and her head fell back. She felt his hand brush away her skirts and slide under her thigh, lifting her higher against him. She rubbed against his body, and the feel of his erection between her thighs, hard and heavy even through her clothes, sent a shiver through her.

  Still holding her against him with one hand, he moved his other into her hair and pushed the pins and combs out of the heavy waves. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, and he buried his face in it. His breath was harsh and warm on her neck, and she just wanted to be nearer to him. She whimpered and buried her fingers tighter into his hair.

  Suddenly a loud clattering noise broke through the blurry haze of her desire. Sophia jerked her hands away from him and bent her head back against the wall. It was only the sound of coal being delivered on the street below, but that everyday noise seemed to shake her harshly out of her dream-state of lust.

  Dominic froze against her, as if he had also forgotten where they were and what they were doing. He slowly lowered her feet to the floor and stepped back. He raked his hand through his tousled hair, and his eyes seemed dark as a nighttime sea when he looked at her. It seemed as if he had never really seen her before.

  Sophia pressed her hands
back hard to the wall to hold herself up. She still couldn’t quite catch her breath. “You want your brother to stay away from me,” she said hoarsely. “But perhaps you should have warned me away from you instead,”

  Dominic laughed ruefully and ran his hand roughly over his jaw. “Perhaps I should have.” He looked away from her with a frown, and the look in his eyes made it seem as if he suddenly was very far away, somewhere no one could follow him. Only a moment ago, Sophia had felt so very close to him, closer than she ever had to anyone before. Now it felt like miles were between then, and she couldn’t figure out why. Or why it made her feel like crying.

  But she would not cry. She had finished with tears long ago. She smoothed down her skirts and pushed her loose hair back over her shoulders as the silence stretched between them. It was broken only by the crackle of the fire and the rumble of the coal wagon on the street.

  “You made me forget why I came here in the first place,” he said, a strange, faraway tone in his voice.

  “Did you not come here to warn me away from your brother?”

  “James told me something else,” he said, that note still in his voice. He looked at her, but he didn’t seem to see her.

  “Oh?” she said, trying to sound careless and light, to not give away any of her own thoughts. “And what is that?”

  “That we share a common ancestress. And that you have her diary.”

  James had seemed taken aback by her words when she told him about the diary, but now Dominic wanted to know about it as well? It seemed very strange. No one had ever been interested in Mary but her; no one else seemed to know anything about her.

  “I do have her diary, yes,” she answered slowly. “I found it in my uncle’s library years ago, and I have kept it with me ever since. She lived in fascinating times.”

  “And she confided her secrets to those pages?” Dominic said, and Sophia didn’t like something about the sound of his voice or the sudden, tense set of his shoulders. She sensed he was holding something back from her, that his interest in the diary was no mere idle curiosity. She had the feeling that she needed to protect Mary in some way, which was ridiculous. Mary had been dead for hundreds of years.

  “She writes the usual sort of things women do in their diaries,” she said cautiously. “Household management, local gossip. I merely thought James would find it amusing to know we had a shared family link, though a distant one. I can’t imagine why you would be interested in reading such dull stuff.”

  “Dull stuff?” Dominic’s stare suddenly shot up to her face, and she almost fell back a step at the harsh glow in his eyes. What was it about the diary that made him that way? “I would like to read it.”

  Sophia shook her head. “It’s a delicate old book and I rarely take it out. But if I were to find something pertaining to your family in it, I would be happy to copy it out for you.”

  Dominic went very still. “Are you refusing to let me see that book? I would pay you for it. Whatever you like.”

  Now Sophia was sure she did not want him to get Mary’s diary, not if he was so desperate for it. “It is not for sale. And if those are the only reasons you came here, to warn me off your brother and get Mary’s diary, you had best leave. It’s late, and I am tired.” And she wanted to start reading the diary again immediately.

  Dominic shook his head. “I would do anything for my family, Sophia. Just remember that. I won’t let a Huntington hurt them again.” He gave her a stiff bow before he spun away toward the door. He vanished through it quickly and silently.

  Sophia hurried over to the window and stared down at the street below until she saw him appear under a circle of gaslight. The light was blurry in the mist, and it made him look like a ghost, slipping away into the night and leaving her with far more questions than answers.

  She slowly sank down onto the carpet, her skirts pooling around her as she buried her face in her hands. He knew who she was—Lady Sophia Huntington. He knew she had Mary’s diary and for some reason he wanted it. That same closed-in, hunted feeling she had had when Lord Hammond tried to find her was descending on her again. Back then she had run to Paris. But she knew she couldn’t run any longer, not from Dominic, not from herself.

  She had to find out why he wanted that diary.

  Chapter Nine

  Sophia stared out through the carriage window at the dazzling mansion as they rolled to a halt before the front doors. It was lit up like a Chinese lantern in the darkness, every window ablaze. The lights shimmered on the white stone walls and cast sparks off the guests’ jewels as they climbed up the marble steps and poured through the open front doors. The faint strains of a waltz could be heard even from outside.

  It was all very elegant, the epitome of Parisian style. No doubt the champagne would be the best, the conversation the most intelligent, and the dancing would go on until dawn. It was exactly the sort of evening she had always enjoyed.

  But tonight she found herself strangely reluctant to leave the shelter of the carriage and go inside. The long evenings at La Reine d’Argent, though undoubtedly fun and profitable, had left her feeling oddly hollow inside. As if there should be something—more.

  What that something could be she had no idea. She was just sure it had to be out there somewhere. But probably not in that house. It would surely be all the same people she had seen for the last few nights at the club.

  For an instant she wondered if Lord Hammond would be there. She hadn’t seen him since that day at the park, and she hoped he had left Paris for London already. She would certainly have to worry about him once she returned to England and tried to contact her family, but at least she would have some time to think before then.

  If, however, he still lurked in Paris, their host tonight, who was a French duke, was surely just the sort of person he would know. Yet Sophia wasn’t as worried about Hammond as she was about seeing Dominic again. She seemed to make a fool of herself whenever he was around.

  “Are you ready, Sophie?” Camille asked.

  Sophia suddenly realized the coach was at a complete standstill and a liveried footman held open the door. She laughed, and smoothed her kid gloves over her wrists. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Camille, I must have been woolgathering.”

  Camille laughed in return as they stepped down from the carriage and joined the glittering line up the stairs. “I have the feeling you don’t really want to be here tonight, my friend. Did you not like the duke when you met him at the club?”

  “No, monsieur le duc seemed perfectly charming,” Sophia said, though in truth she couldn’t quite remember exactly what the man looked like. They had all begun to look rather alike. Except for Dominic. She remembered every detail of him vividly.

  “Then you have tired of parties?”

  “Perhaps a bit,” Sophia admitted. “But I know that socializing is an important part of your business.”

  “So it is, an enjoyable part. Yet I am sensing you do not relish it as I do right now.” Camille’s gaze was sympathetic as they gave their wraps to a waiting maid and turned toward the noise and sparkle of the ballroom. “You are still thinking of your family?”

  “I do think of them,” Sophia said, though she knew she hadn’t been thinking of them enough, if she wanted to persuade them she was ready to return. She needed to formulate a plan to be respectable. “I must decide what to write them soon.”

  “You must do what pleases you, of course,” Camille said. “But I still say you are not made for stuffy English respectability.”

  Sophia laughed, and they were swept into the very midst of the party. She had more dance partners than she could fit on her card and was even enjoying herself as the evening went along.

  But then as Sophia spun around in the last turn of the dance, she glimpsed a tall, dark, distinguished-looking figure standing in the doorway. At first she thought she had imagined him, but when she twirled to a stop facing the door he was still there, surveying the party with a cool smile on his face.

  A
footman offered him a glass of wine from a tray, but Hammond waved him off. He saw Sophia watching him, and his smile widened. He stepped into the glittering crowd, and for a moment he was lost to her view.

  All of Sophia’s senses seemed to sharpen. The room around her felt brighter, warmer; the laughter seemed louder. She knew she couldn’t panic, not here.

  After the dance ended, Sophia had her partner escort her to Camille’s side. Her friend stood near the cooling breeze of the open terrace doors, sipping champagne and laughing with a few friends from the club.

  “Sophie, you look flushed from the dance,” Camille said with a merry laugh. She snatched another glass of champagne from a passing servant. “Here, have a drink.”

  Sophia gratefully took the glass and gulped the bubbling liquid quickly, in a way that certainly didn’t do it justice. Yet she still felt nervous.

  “Are you quite all right, Sophie?” Camille asked.

  Sophia nodded as she surveyed the swirling crowd in the ballroom. Only as the dancers turned did she glimpse Lord Hammond again. He stood across the dance floor, flanked by two very attentive ladies Sophia recognized as among the most expensive courtesans in Paris. His gaze caught hers, and he spoke a quiet word to the women. They hurried off in a flash of diamonds. One of them tossed him a wistful glance, but it was obvious they would do nothing to contradict his orders.

  It seemed he held that strange power over many people. Then he moved away and disappeared into the crowd again.

  “Do you know that man?” Camille said.

  Sophia turned to her, still tense at the knowledge that Hammond was out there, watching her. “Which man?”

  “The one who was staring at you, of course. He looked like a hawk with a mouse.”

  And that was exactly how he made Sophia feel—like a mouse. She didn’t like that sensation at all. “We have met once or twice in Baden-Baden. Do you know him, Camille?”

  “I have heard of him,” Camille said with a weirdly bitter note in her voice. It seemed she really had heard tales, unsavory ones. “His name is Lord Hammond, yes?”