by Kim Bowman
He gasped for breath then made a low growling sound in his throat. When he looked down, her insides leapt at the heated, nearly predatory look he speared her with. A dark chuckle, then he ducked to lick from her collar to chin, planted a hot kiss on her mouth, then exhaled in a gust, kneading his hands over her flanks.
She hung on to his shoulders, delirious with an ecstatic disembodied sensation. She soaked in the feel of his heart hammering over hers and relished every residual shudder and twitch. Here was true power: having this man helpless in her arms, so spent he seemed unconscious of what he was saying under his breath. She never imagined such scandalous words could sound poetic.
The singular most blissful moment of her life.
He heaved for breath and dropped his head back against the wall, making an erotic pose she wished she could capture and frame. Beads of perspiration shone on his skin, reflecting the moonlight also highlighting his cheekbones, the curve of muscle, the ends of his hair, and especially his steely eyes.
She wanted to blurt, “Oh, how I love you, Wil,” but he didn’t seem the sentimental type, and she never forgot that he’d married her out of a sense of duty. No need to embarrass him with such a heavy sentiment. Perhaps he would reciprocate in time. Right now she thought riding a star was possible.
“My knees,” he complained, shifting his weight. Still gripping her, he plodded toward a wooden platform and set her down gingerly without unraveling their pose. “My ears,” he added groggily, shaking his head and leaning his weight on the plank. “I can’t hear. Everything sounds underwater.”
She waited until he recovered his senses before asking him to process speech. “You are a clever man, Wilhelm. I felt not even a shadow of fear.” She squeezed the tight columns of muscle down his back, coaxing him to relax. She would never tell him the spasms caused a sympathetic cramping in her abdomen, that irritating dull throbbing she’d come to loathe. Mending the discord between them was well worth it and then some. “Whatever shall we do with your discovery?”
“Repeat it, I suppose.” Nice, how he stroked her legs from ankle to thigh. He probably didn’t even notice he did it. “But I thought—”
She waited, and waited longer. “Oh, no, you don’t, Wilhelm Montegue. I mean to hear the second part of that thought.” She braised her fingernails along his jaw, rasping his evening whiskers. Did his skin heat? He could not be blushing?
“I assumed you — ah, that a lady would have no taste for, ah… Oh, hell.”
She smiled, brushing her lips against his neck. He thought the only way to bed a blueblood was on her back? She spared him the crass admission. “Well, I am no lady. By all means, exercise your creative genius.”
He raised his head to find her lips and gave her a deep, lazy kiss. “I want to curl up on this table and sleep naked with you,” he mumbled in her ear. “But then I remembered this is the kitchen. And there is an odd smell in the vicinity of the broken jars.” He released her and stretched, presenting an inspiring silhouette.
He gathered her discarded clothes but didn’t give them back. Instead he lifted her and carried her through the dark house, straight to his bedroom. All the way she heard sweet strains of triumph, like some glorious Beethoven symphony unfurling a melodic theme with forty violins. And cymbal crashes, timpani rolls; plenty of percussion.
She expected a whole lot of noise.
Chapter Twenty-One
On The Benefits Of Losing A Game Of Croquet
A beam of light woke her, tickling her shoulder, warming her navel. The unfamiliar sensation came by virtue of the curtain panel that had been pulled down. Or perhaps the incessant deep cracking sound outside had stirred her from her sleep.
She failed at her first attempt to open her eyes and dozed until the rhythmic boom-crack-crack-thunk! sound came again. She looked upward, and the sagging cobalt bed curtains wrapped around the splintered stump of a bedpost came into focus. The scene felt dreamlike as flame-orange light from the sunrise painted the blue room with its fundamentally opposite color. Not the Scarlet Suite, but the earl’s bedchamber.
Wilhelm was gone.
Boom-crack-crack… thunk!
Sophia rolled, since the small muscles in her belly protested sitting up, probably because of her amateur acrobatics the night before. And the broken bedpost? Well, Wilhelm had reached back to hold on to it for balance, and the narrow top joint had broken off in his hand. The loosened corner of the bed curtains had fluttered around them, but he hadn’t broken rhythm, even draped as a tent.
She sat at the foot of the bed, the same spot where she’d collapsed the final time, tangled in Wilhelm’s arms. The echo of a sated achy feeling lingered, like having laughed until it hurt. Beneath that was a bone-deep glow, the thrill of anticipation.
Not only was he not there, but the sheets had long cooled. What, did he mean to dismiss her like some shameful mistress? Or perhaps he had gone for his morning exercise, slave to habit. If he came through the door with a breakfast tray, she vowed she would make it worth his while, tease him into letting her try something he’d been too bashful to attempt the previous night. Any minute now…
Boom-crack-crack-thunk!
Sophia found her crumpled shift on the desk where Wilhelm had tossed it when he’d carried her through the doorway. Her gown had probably been dropped downstairs, no doubt scandalizing the kitchen staff. She found Wilhelm’s robe, a luxurious oriental black silk number, and belted it around her waist. She followed the sound to the east entrance, past the courtyard, toward the riding field where the noise grew louder.
Clearer now she heard three rhythmic claps of thunder then the clatter of heavy objects tumbling together. She heard a low very male growl and followed it past the stables to the gardening shed. A dramatic sight: Wilhelm, dressed sloppily in boots, dusty trousers, and a linen shirt unbuttoned and untucked, plastered to his chest with perspiration. Unruly hair draped across his brow, disguising his expression.
He slammed a section of log onto a wide stump and raised an axe high above his head. With a graceful swing, he dashed the head of the axe into the log, neatly splintering it from top to bottom in one stroke. In rhythm he swung twice more then knocked the cut sections into the pile. Boom-crack-crack-thunk!
Spectacular, the sight of him — not a man chopping wood, but a half-crazed demon unleashing violence with an axe. His pile of firewood already measured past her waist, and he seemed determined to make a year’s supply. When the next stroke of his axe sent a woodchip flying in Sophia’s direction, she moved to dodge it and caught his eye.
Wilhelm turned slowly toward her, lowering the axe. He panted for breath and wiped sweat from his brow on his rolled sleeve. She wasn’t ready for the electric silver of his eyes as he met her gaze. The strengthening rays of dawn glowed bright orange, framing him in fiery menacing shadows. His fearsome expression did nothing to allay her impression of a demon. A dark, temptingly beautiful one. Sordid inspiration…
Sophia swallowed then spoke first, but her voice sounded raspy. “Good morning, Wilhelm.” She couldn’t quit staring nor keep her heart from dancing in her chest. It didn’t help that Wilhelm was looking at her that way.
“I can feel it when you’re near.” He rubbed the back of his neck. She recalled the same sensation of prickled nerves; it happened to her when he came close. “Why is that?”
Sophia didn’t like the first answer that came to mind and brushed it away. Too effusive, too mystical. She said instead, “A soldier’s instincts.”
He reached her in three large strides and pressed his lips to hers in a feather-light kiss. “Good morning.” His tone, his furrowed brows, did not appear to mean Good morning.
She turned to glance eastward at the sun peaking over the crest of a wooded hill for a reprieve from his grim expression. She hadn’t expected him to be so upset. Really, what could she possibly apologize for? I am sorry for seducing you, for indulging in a long night of delirious pleasure we have both craved for months. Punish me, darling.
See? She could scarcely be serious in her state.
He finally stepped back, much to her relief and disappointment. “I’m sorry I woke you.” He nudged a stray log into the pile with his boot.
“No matter. I needed fresh air.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” His gaze met hers then followed the loose strands of her hair twirling in the breeze.
“You are upset?” she asked as lightly as she could manage. At his look of dark humor, she cocked her head inquisitively and waited.
He gave a short laugh and embedded the axe in the stump. “What gave you that impression?”
“A wild guess. But if you ever tire of life as a peer of the realm, you show promise of being a fine woodsman.” She shifted her weight to the other hip, uncomfortable with the energy rolling off him in waves. “You cannot regret last night, Wilhelm?”
“Regret the best night of my life? No.” He rolled his shoulders and reached to rub the spot over his bullet wound. “The consequences are another matter.”
“You worry I will get with child and miscarry it again.”
He winced as though looking directly at the sun then averted his gaze down at his boots. He kicked a rock and sighed. “It was a nightmare, Sophia.”
“I know, but I’m still pleased to learn I am not barren. I should be, considering my illness. All the best continental doctors said so.” She sidled closer, attempting to thaw him with a little flirting. “Or perhaps you are exceptionally virile.”
One corner of his mouth pulled in a smirk, which probably meant he wasn’t impressed with her flattery. “I shouldn’t have given in. It was wrong of me. And foolish.”
“I have never been so happy, Wil.”
“And I have never been so terrified. I can’t—” He raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t lose you, Sophia. I am already going out of my mind at the thought.”
She could feel it: the wily spirit of a stallion that seemed to possess him. His words came dangerously close to crossing the line between affection and devotion. But since he’d had no inclination to whisper any variation of I love you the previous night, with no fewer than four such opportune moments, he didn’t seem eager to do so now. But he did care for her — obviously. Deeply and genuinely, because he was a man of integrity. That should be enough, more than she had a right to expect.
Wilhelm watched her with a raw boldness; he seemed to see through her clothes, through her skin into her soul, where she couldn’t hide her thoughts. Probably reading her mind again. She had three words to say, but her instincts warned her to silence. Bad form to turn a business arrangement into a classic, pathetic case of unrequited love. How gauche to fall in love with one’s spouse. Really, surprising she found herself in love at all. But there it is.
Can you see that too, Wil?
His gaze scoured hers until she looked at his hands — shaking. He grasped the handle of the axe again to still himself. Sophia finally comprehended what it meant: in his tumult, he craved liquor but desperately tried to abstain, as he’d done with general success over the past few months. No harmless glass of wine for dinner or a snifter of brandy with company would satisfy him. At the moment, he wanted to get completely sloshed. But he didn’t do it.
She felt overwhelming compassion and pride for him but tried to keep it out of her expression; he wouldn’t want coddling from a woman. “Shall I hide your cognac?” she teased softly.
He raised his eyebrows. Had she been too direct? “That wouldn’t stop me. I could go to the pub if that’s what I wanted.”
“Then you must seek a distraction.” She said this innocently, without a hint of irony.
His bark of laughter startled her, then his chuckling wound down slowly while Sophia glared, self-consciously crossing her arms over her chest. “Drinking is the distraction, Sophia.”
“Distraction from what?”
He saved his ironic smirk for his boots and kept his head down. “From the same muse who stole my sleep and put an axe in my hands this morning.”
Sophia looked at a trail leading away into the woods then back to an uncomfortable Wilhelm, who shifted his feet and kneaded his grip on the axe handle. He was making her nervous, too. “You worry too much, Wil.”
“My brain says What if?”
“Mine says I want you. And I win.”
Just then the housekeeper cracked the door open to let Fritz out and he came bounding toward them. Sophia patted his head, then Fritz nudged Wilhelm until he scratched behind his ears.
Wilhelm rolled his shoulders again, his eyes still averted. “I always want you.”
Oh, my. He actually blushed, spots of pink under his morning stubble.
Their eyes locked, and the short distance between them crackled with potent magnetism. “I’m in a bad way, Sophie,” he confessed. “After last night, I have this… insatiable appetite for you. I can’t imagine going back — living like a monk, I mean. But nothing is worth the risk. Not the pleasure, not even a child.”
“I will be more careful, now that I know. No more riding bareback and baiting gypsies, I promise.” She used her best arrow in the quiver. “I trust you to protect me, Wil.”
It worked; he squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest a little.
“Think of it: a little boy with dark hair and grey eyes — the tenth Earl of Devon. Or a little girl with Madeline’s ringlets. A tiny voice calling, ‘Papa.’”
She had him smiling, but then the color drained from his face as it melted into a scowl. “Oh, damn.”
“What?”
“I never considered — my illness. It would be a crime for me to pass it on to a child.”
She nearly blurted, “Surely it can’t be inherited,” out of curiosity. What she really meant to say: “I love you just the way you are.” What actually came out of her mouth was, “Far better than what lurks on my side of the family.”
Ah, there. He fought a smile then kissed the top of her head, lingering to smell her hair. “I owe Thor a run, and then I have a meeting with Colonel O’Grady. I would invite you and Sadie to ride along, but you promised to be careful.”
She groaned in protest but didn’t argue. “Queen of Compromise, that is me.”
He slid an arm around her waist and lowered his head for a kiss that promised more later. The simple gesture shot lightning straight down to curl her toes and filled her head with a sharper blend of his leathery pine-and-spice scent. Her own skin had absorbed it last night, and she could still smell it in her nose after he walked away toward the stables. Yes, she watched him walk, appreciating how his clothes stretched over finely cut muscles, his gait a blend of jockish and feline predator.
Wilhelm turned before he swung open the door, just in time to catch her ogling his rear end. He winked and puckered his lips, earning a chuckle from her. She spun on the ball of her foot and let him watch her walk away, knowing the thin silk robe clung to her form in the breeze. Let him find a reason to clear his schedule.
~~~~
A neighborhood tea had much in common with Waterloo: opposing forces, precise stratagem, general-sized egos, and someone always went down in a blaze of glory.
Fortunately, Elise didn’t seem the one destined for shame. She sat with her hands in her lap, smiling pleasantly, showing off her Cavendish dimples. She had yet to burst out with open-mouthed laughter, in fact she’d barely spoken. But she did watch a Lieutenant Sherman, a friend of Philip’s, out of the corner of her eye. And he watched her.
The two looked like a long lost couple of Olympian titans, with their willowy golden looks. Sophia scanned the room of neighborhood acquaintances, and found she was not exaggerating — Elise and Lt. Sherman stuck out, like a matching pair. Others noticed too. Everyone seemed to expect something, and all the sideways glances and not-quite-whispering became comical. A brief introduction between the two would not suffice; everyone wanted to see what would happen when the two were thrust together.
Philip had been standing guard over Elise, grasping a snifter with on
e hand and the back of his sister’s chair with the other, feigning sociability but coming off more like a bulldog on a short chain. Sophia finally caught his eye and he came to her side like a faithful swain.
“It can’t be avoided, Philip. But perhaps a garden game might defuse some of the tension.” She lowered her voice and hid her mouth behind a glass of punch. “Do you name some grievous flaw of character which prevents recommending your friend to your sister?”
Philip furrowed his brows and frowned, pulling his dimples in contrast. “No, I suppose not. Sherman is fairly a straight arrow. I just don’t want him near Elise.”
“She is nineteen. Nearly twenty.”
“But naïve as a babe.”
Sophia couldn’t debate that. “All the more reason to surround her with trusted acquaintances as she makes her debut into society.”
Philip looked at his lovely sister, only to see her sneak another glance at the dashing Lt. Sherman, who stole a glance at her. Both winsome faces lit up then colored. Philip let out a little groan, and Sophia felt some small sympathy for him. “But the way he looks at her…”
“Nauseating, I know. Why don’t you suggest croquet, and I will place your three colors together — everyone expects such maneuvering from the hostess. And then you can knock Sherman’s ball into the water.”
He endorsed the idea, and Elise managed the introduction to the princely Lt. Sherman without giggling. She did bat her eyelashes, but he seemed to like it. Oh well. Sophia couldn’t recall ever being so innocent, and she’d never believed in fairy tales.
She studied Lt. Sherman as carefully as Philip, watching like a hawk for some sign of irony beneath his gold-plated façade. She paid more attention to his manner than trying to hit the ball in the proper direction through the wickets. He seemed genuine if not a little vapid and naïve himself. Ten minutes in the garden with Elise and her suitor, and Sophia tentatively changed her mind about fictitious fairy tales. She wished Elise a happy, romantic experience — if such simplicity existed.