She tilted her head questioningly. It was all the encouragement he needed.
Ever so slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers. “Just a taste,” he murmured.
At first, she compressed her lips — a feeble protest — while he used his own to coax and persuade.
But then… ah, yes.
Giving in with a sweet sigh, her mouth softened beneath his.
Dev took full advantage of her acquiescence and slid his tongue along the relaxed seam.
Honeyed lips opened for him.
“So sweet…” He growled into her mouth before delving deeper into the pink, moist flesh. He was vaguely aware of the rattling of chains as they were attached to the wagon, and then voices, a brief argument, and some sort of agreement.
Undeterred, he had time yet. He explored behind her lips and along the line of her teeth and then sucked, ever so lightly at her tongue. He would miss this. The excitement of experiencing a woman’s arousal for the first time. The delight of hearing her breath quicken.
She liked it, he could tell, although he also presumed her to be shocked at his audacity. But she’d lifted her face up, closer to his. She must be on her toes.
Dev dug his fingers into the flesh of her derriere and the tremor that shook her body convinced him that, given the opportunity, she would enjoy more intimate play.
But Miss Sophia Babineaux was a lady.
He would have to be satisfied with but a kiss.
Except… He had been considering earlier… Finding some sweet thing…
“Here she goes! You ready in there, sir?”
Dev pulled away and smiled into the passion-clouded eyes of Miss Sophia Babineaux. “Carry on!” he shouted without removing his gaze.
And then she narrowed her eyes. The debutante had returned!
“You ought not to take advantage, Captain.”
“Why ever not, Miss Babineaux?” he asked. “Don’t I deserve a boon for coming to your rescue?” He bent down and pressed his open mouth against the side of her neck.
She shivered and, contradicting her own words, tilted her head to give him better access.
Dev knew when a woman was willing.
And, in this moment anyhow, this woman was willing.
Chapter Two
Sophia had heard of Captain Devlin Brookes.
Despite efforts to hide the nature of Lord Kensington’s injury, the Nottinghams had been unable to keep secret the details of the infamous duel. It was simply too delicious for any self-respecting member of the ton to keep to oneself. The servants at Nottinghouse, anyhow, had been unable to do so. And everyone knew that the juiciest morsels of gossip were fueled by one’s retainers.
This man, with his arms around her, Captain Devlin Brookes, had acted as second to the challenger, Colonel Harris. Sophia considered Harris something of a hero. He’d avenged his daughter’s honor most efficiently.
And, well, the Earl of Kensington had deserved it! He’d betrayed one of her dearest of friends.
Although Brookes had only been the second in the duel, the nature of his association gave him stature in Sophia’s esteem.
And now, he’d come along to rescue not only herself, but Peaches, too.
The captain stood so tall that she needed to tilt her head all the way back to assess his features. She ought to be shocked by his behavior, but here she stood, one hand tucked into the material of his jacket, cradling Peaches between them, and the other around his neck.
He was in need of a haircut, she pondered idly as her fingers combed through a few tendrils. She considered withdrawing but she had nowhere to go! And so…
She’d never imagined the taste of another human’s mouth. Spicy, warm — and his tongue felt rough as he danced with her own.
When the lion cart began toppling toward her, she had braced herself for crushing pain, an onslaught of sorrow for her untimely demise, and then, blessed, peaceful death. Amidst all these thoughts, she’d hoped she could somehow protect Peaches with her own body.
But the impact had not come.
The cart would have landed on them, but the façades of the two buildings beside her had halted its descent at the last moment. She’d huddled, amazingly alive, only to realize she still faced danger... danger that involved swiping claws and razor-sharp teeth.
She almost might have crawled out beneath the precariously perched vehicle, for she could see daylight peeking through, but if she were to make one wrong move, yikes! She’d decided not to attempt it.
All of this had left Sophia and Peaches in close confines with an injured lion. And although the situation was harrowing, indeed, her foremost fear was for Peaches. Most certainly, her tiny dog would provide a fine delicacy for a lion.
She’d been doing her best to prevent another fit of barking when the captain had appeared, hovering above her.
He’d materialized most heroically, a dark silhouette against the bright sky.
Such a sense of authority and power exuded from his person, that the panic of her situation dissolved unashamedly… into shivers of admiration.
And he had been so kind!
Whereas certain men might chastise her, this one expressed only concern and sympathy.
He’d not patronized her.
Nor had he berated her for this calamity; in fact, he’d scoffed at the very notion of Sophia being at fault!
How could one not find such a figure heroic?
He smelled divine. And he tasted… Oh, my!
She had never been so conscious of a man, of a person for that matter, in her entire life. Not even Lord Harold.
Her fiancé had certainly never held her like this — as though he would die if he could not touch her, kiss her, taste her. This captain didn’t even seem to mind Peaches snuggled between the two of them.
What would Harold think if he knew? Surely, Harold would feel betrayed.
With good reason, she admonished herself as the captain gently nipped at her lower lip.
For such utter lack of resistance on her part was an unqualified betrayal of her sweet, quiet, unassuming fiancé.
She could make all the excuses in the world that the shock of nearly being crushed to death had muddled her judgment, but the reality was that she had willingly allowed another man to kiss her — a man who was not her fiancé.
And go right on kissing her.
In fact, he now seemed quite fascinated with her cheek, and the sensitive skin by her ear.
Why ever would she want to end this?
Did a person take one breath of air and then stop breathing?
Did a man lost in the desert, drink one swallow of water and then toss the canteen aside? Or perhaps more aptly, could a girl take a single lick of her ice from Gunter’s only to allow the rest to melt?
Good heavens, no!
For in her twenty years of life, by no means had she ever experienced such delightful, and yet unnerving sensations.
How could she tell him to stop before he was finished?
She could not.
She did not.
Which, as an engaged woman, she found more than a little disturbing.
Why hadn’t Harold aroused such feelings? Brookes, a man she didn’t know from Adam, had inexplicitly lit a fire in her she’d not even known existed. What was so different about him?
Was it because she and Peaches had been in such danger? Could her scandalous behavior be excused as an understandable response to such a harrowing experience?
Or was it simply because she found herself trapped in a very private alcove with a sublimely handsome gentleman? Perhaps she could scrutinize these matters with Rhoda.
Later.
“They’re going to hoist the wagon upright in a moment. Sophia? Are you well? Is Peaches unhurt? You’ve gone awful silent, Sophia?” Rhoda’s voice penetrated Sophia’s muddled thoughts.
“Keeping quiet, Rho,” Sophia answered almost automatically. Really, she ought to be ashamed of herself. “Don’t wish to upset the lion!”
&n
bsp; “Oh.” Rhoda sounded a trifle put-out. “I suppose…”
Rhoda faded into oblivion once again as Brookes’ mouth explored the inner shell of Sophia’s ear. How on earth could something so… silly… feel so brilliantly, extraordinarily fabulous?
Harold’s touch never had caused these sensations. It hadn’t even come close. She hummed under her breath and at the same time reflected upon the rare intimate gestures her fiancé had bestowed upon her.
He’d occasionally kissed her hand. Well, he’d kissed the air above her hand. He had never quite placed his lips upon her skin, or her glove, to actually kiss it, per se.
And on a few instances, he’d courteously offered his arm while they strolled through the park.
He… well, once he’d brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes. She’d thought he would kiss her then, but he’d turned away instead. Rarely had she found herself alone with Lord Harold.
Why, truth be told, aside from his formal proposal, they had never been alone together!
And very soon, the privacy she shared with this heroic rake would be stripped away as well. The tip of his tongue flicked inside of her ear now. And the captain was whispering something about an introduction
“May I call upon you some afternoon, Miss Babineaux? Take you for a ride in the park, perhaps?” His breath felt hot in her ear. “If you require a formal introduction, I’m certain I can arrange something.”
She could barely respond, however, for all of the confusion flitting about her mind.
Harold was so very different from this impertinent captain.
Good heavens! It had taken Lord Harold nearly two Seasons to ask for a dance. She’d been particularly flattered when he’d told her this.
Captain Brookes lacked such patience, it would seem.
Yes, this delicious man was likely considered something of a rake. His expert touch revealed that he knew exactly how to do… all of this. No, nothing shy about him.
She probably ought to mention that she was, in fact, spoken for.
Yes, she really ought to… And she ought to thank him for his assistance…
“Although he will most likely be grateful for your aiding my rescue…” Sophia spoke into his shirtfront. Oh, how his hair felt ever so soft and springy! “…I doubt my fiancé would approve of this.”
She’d barely completed her sentence when, with a great deal of creaking and groaning, sunlight landed upon them both as the carriage shuttered and was hoisted back into its upright position.
Clutching Peaches in one arm, Sophia took one step backwards and smoothed her dress where the captain’s hands had been. Naughty man! Hopefully, it hadn’t wrinkled too badly.
Rhoda, who rushed toward her now, would likely notice wrinkles that oughtn’t to be in certain places on one’s gown.
Rhoda could be counted on for this sort of thing regardless of the circumstances.
“Sophy, Oh, Sophia! You had me terrified!” Rhoda was suddenly beside her, hugging her and fussing at her dress and hair. Which said something as to the danger she’d been in, because nothing frightened Rhoda.
Ever.
“Are you hurt? And Peaches, is Peaches all right?”
The familiarity of her friend brought a shimmer of tears to Sophia’s eyes. Oh, wonderful, now she would cry? She did not wish to give in to her suddenly maudlin state with all of these gentlemen and ladies looking on. Neither did she wish for the captain to see her so discomposed.
But really! What must he think of her?
Where had he gone? He’d disappeared as soon as Rhoda rushed in. If he returned, could she face him again?
“We are fine, both fine. But I wish to go home. Would you mind terribly if we canceled our meeting with Madame Chantal today?” Madame Chantal, London’s famous modiste, was stingy with her appointments and would be annoyed if they failed to attend.
Nonetheless, Sophia wished for the privacy of her bedchamber. She and Rhoda could have tea and biscuits sent up and perhaps discuss these new qualms she’d suddenly developed in regards to her betrothal.
“Of course! When we get you home, we’ll send a missive telling of the accident. Why, you were nearly killed! Even Madame cannot blame you for being overset.”
“But I don’t want my stepfather to know about this. He and Dudley already complain that Peaches causes too much trouble, and I’d rather not give them further reason to dislike her.” She’d had Peaches since she was a puppy, four years now, and had learned to try to keep her out of sight. Mr. Scofield barely tolerated Peaches and her stepbrother openly despised her.
“Of course not!” Rhoda understood.
This morning, they’d made their way on foot from the Scofield townhouse, so they had no choice but to walk back. This had seemed like nothing, earlier, but Sophia’s legs felt a little wobbly now. Fear –– and other things –– had obviously weakened them.
There was nothing for it. They must walk back. Sophia tucked her reticule under her arm and gathered Peaches close.
“Why don’t you let Peaches walk? You needn’t carry her all the way back,” Rhoda suggested.
But Sophia shook her head. “That’s what started all of this to begin with.” She then told Rhoda how Peaches had upset the horses, which had upset the driver, upsetting the horses further, which had then upset the cart, which upset the lion.
“It was a most upsetting experience,” Rhoda responded in agreement. She had a stern expression on her face, but Sophia understood her friend all too well. A wicked twinkle in her eyes belied amusement. Rhoda, being Rhoda, would find some humor in the situation.
“It was!” Sophia insisted. She eyed the cart with the lion. It seemed as though he were watching her and Peaches, memorizing their images so that he could one day exact his revenge. She shuddered at such a thought.
They would need to pass alongside him once again to walk in the direction of Mr. Scofield’s home. She could not lose control of Peaches again.
A tingling of awareness crept over her, just then. Looking away from the lion, she realized that Captain Brookes had chosen that moment to rejoin them.
He’d most likely been discussing the removal of the carts and the re-harnessing of the horse with the caravan drivers, or other such manly matters, Sophia presumed. But he had returned, and his attention was once again fully riveted upon Sophia, Rhoda, and even, it seemed, Peaches.
He bowed and spoke in deep, formal tones. His straight spine and soldierly demeanor betrayed his military training. “Ladies, My apologies for the lack of a proper introduction.”
“Captain Brookes…” Sophia spoke his name as though they were meeting in one of London’s most fashionable ballrooms. “…may I present to you my dearest friend, Miss Rhododendron Mossant.”
Brookes chuckled, most people had the good manners not to comment on Rhoda’s less-than-common name. “Rhododendron, Miss Mossant? Beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”
Was he teasing Rhoda? Or flirting with her?
Rhoda laughed.
In fact, if Rhoda were a cat, she’d have been lapping cream from his hand. “I consider myself the lucky one. I have two sisters, Coleus and Hollyhock. My father was French and my mother—”
“An avid horticulturist?” Brookes finished for her with a gleam in his eye.
Rhoda nodded and giggled. Was she, too, taken with the dashing captain?
Captain Brookes chuckled, garnering Sophia’s attention once again. Tiny wrinkles appeared at the corners of his black eyes when he did that. His eyes were even blacker than his hair, which gleamed a near blue in the sunlight. As Sophia studied his appearance, he turned toward her.
“I haven’t my conveyance, Miss Babineaux, but may I locate your coach and chaperone?” Despite his unscrupulous actions earlier, he addressed the ladies as though he were, in fact, a fine gentleman. “Or, if you haven’t one, may I hire a Hackney?”
“We haven’t far to walk.” Sophia noted that Rhoda had blushed an annoying shade of rose.
“Th
en I shall provide you an escort, of course.”
“We would be ever so grateful, Captain Brookes,” Rhoda answered, not bothering to consult with Sophia.
A most unpleasant sensation crept into Sophia as she watched a coquettish smile dancing on Rhoda’s lips.
Sophia herself was engaged, and she would have her friend be pleased, yes, but Brookes was a rake, most assuredly. And well… that kiss…
Brookes was apparently oblivious to the turmoil he’d stirred up in Sophia. He, instead, now studied Peaches and seemed to be considering the issues that had instigated this situation at the outset. “May I see your dog, Miss Babineaux? Perhaps a firm hand will extract us from this melee without further catastrophe.”
Snuggled contentedly upon Sophia’s shoulder, Peaches rested her chin in an unusual display of docility. The entire experience must have exhausted the poor thing.
Captain Brookes reached over and scratched behind her baby’s floppy ears. “Hello, little sweetheart.”
Peaches’ eyes lolled back in ecstasy.
Glancing again at Sophia, he raised his brows questioningly. “May I?”
“I suppose, if she’ll let you…” Sophia trailed off uneasily. Peaches hadn’t taken well to many men. She barely tolerated Mr. Scofield, and her stepbrother not at all.
Apparently, the males in her life simply lacked Brookes’ charm, for Peaches climbed right into his arms and tucked her head beneath his chin.
Holding Peaches safely against his chest, this large military man cuddled her baby protectively. “We won’t let that lion hurt you, little one,” he cooed to her dog.
These were the words that catapulted Sophia, most devastatingly — more than halfway — head-over–heels in love with Captain Brookes.
* * *
Rhoda bit into one of the warm and flaky pastries provided with the tea that had been brought up to Sophia’s chamber. “Good heavens, Soph. These are divine. Did your father hire a new cook?” They were unusually good today. And the linens were new, as was the tea set.
But Sophia was not concerned with the tea nor the biscuits. In fact, she could barely contain herself one second longer.
Dashing Dukes and Romantic Rogues Page 44